


If I could take it all back then I would (But I won't)

by salvadore



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Groundhog Day, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eduardo wakes up and he's back in the Palo Alto house. Again. And again. Worst of all - he's not the only one who knows what's going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I could take it all back then I would (But I won't)

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt on the kinkmeme "Groundhog day fic, where both of them are stuck in the time loop, preferably post-movie, and have to work together to fix it." Also for Aby, who is a wonder, and beta-d by Jenn.

Eduardo falls asleep in Singapore, curled up on his duvet. He is drunk enough that he doesn't even bother to strip out of his dress pants or crawl under the covers. Instead, Eduardo rubs his socked feet together as he presses his face into a pillow. Somewhere on the floor his dress shirt is getting wrinkled from being tossed carelessly to the floor, and on the nightstand his unfinished scotch is sweating a ring into the wood.

\--

When Eduardo wakes up, he is upright and there is a hand on his shoulder. 

A stewardess smiles at him as he blinks blearily up at her. It’s a slow, worried smile that looks oddly familiar. Eduardo opens his mouth to ask her name, but his mouth is dry with sleep. He raises his hand to cough and that's when he notices the background noise. 

There is the snapping of plastic on plastic that, after years of air travel, Eduardo cannot help but recognize as the sound of people latching the trays on the seat in front of them. Eduardo turns his head and watches over the stewardess' shoulder as a family in the row diagonally across from him chatters and fastens their seat-belts. 

As dry as his mouth felt moments before, Eduardo feels as though a desert has chosen that moment to take up residence on his tongue. He glances at the stewardess in time to see her smile drop into a frown. Her hand tightens on his shoulder. 

“We're preparing to land," she says. 

Eduardo nods his head like a bobble head. He scrambles for the latch of his belt, completely missing the first two tries. Luckily, he feels the woman push off from his shoulder and he is saved from embarrassment as she winds her way up the aisle. 

The pilot comes on over the intercom to remind the passengers to buckle up. 

“We'll soon be landing in SFO International Airport, thank you for flying with us this evening -”

Eduardo wraps his fingers around the armrest wanting to dig in because this can't be happening. Either the last four years were a very vivid dream (one that isn't fading fast enough -) or he has blacked out and boarded a plane to California.

Eduardo spends the plane's descent to the runway in the midst of a panic attack. 

\--

Eduardo stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair is a mess from running his fingers through it while he anxiously waited for his baggage to roll off the ramp. His baggage is at his feet now, a duffel bag and a briefcase. The duffel had spun around on the carrousel twice before Eduardo had realized it was his, and the briefcase had been passed to him by the stewardess before he could accidentally abandon it. Eduardo would swear that he had broken the strap on the briefcase and replaced it before he graduated from Harvard. And the last time he saw the duffel bag was before he boarded a flight to London three months after the depositions. 

He's also wearing the jacket he had to throw out that night in New York after he broke up with Christy because she had torn it to shreds in her rampage. And if that weren't the end of the absolute insanity the universe seems compelled to throw in his face, Eduardo would swear that he is four years younger. His hair is shorter and he's all limbs in a way he hasn't been since college; since he started jogging to relieve stress, a habit originating during the depositions. 

Eduardo drops his shoulders as he releases a deep breath. His knuckles are white as he tightens his fingers around the edges of the sink top. For a moment Eduardo holds his own gaze and tries not to blink. 

Then he squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten. 

When he opens his eyes he is still in the bathroom at SFO International Airport. Still in California, with no recollection of getting there and the sinking feeling that any answer to the _hundreds_ of questions in his head will be bad. 

But standing in the men's bathroom isn't helping either. 

Eduardo considers his hair a lost cause and lifts his bags from the floor. He shrugs the straps onto his shoulders and pushes his way back out into the airport. Around midnight, the airport is almost quiet in comparison to mid-day and Eduardo can hear the echo of his shoes against the linoleum. 

There is no one beside the sliding doors, but Eduardo wishes there were. Maybe a driver with a sign that read _Saverin_ or maybe Dustin waving his arms and wearing an infectious grin. Anything. But there is no sign of a familiar face waiting to pick him up. 

Eduardo walks all the way out to the pick-up/drop-off zone outside. The sky is dark with clouds and the sight of a sudden flash of lighting causes a mantra of _pleasepleasepleasenononono_ in his mind. He steps past the awning to watch another burst of lighting arching over the sky. The clap of thunder isn't far behind. It's like an algorithm and Eduardo is at the second to last step, but the solution doesn't make any sense. 

Eduardo reaches into his jacket pocket. His hand closes around a cellphone and relief slides up his spine. Until he looks at it. Eduardo can't help but whimper when he sees his old phone.  
With fumbling fingers, Eduardo holds the end call button until the screen lights up. Feeling weak in the knees as it searches for the network. 

Eduardo nearly drops his phone to the sidewalk and walks out into the street. Because the solution is that it's _that_ night, and suddenly caring, about any of whatever this is, seems useless.  
Instead he slips the phone back into his pocket as he steps toward the edge, waving for a cab. 

Sometimes, Eduardo thinks he is a masochist.

\--

It's raining by the time the cab pulls up to Mark's rental in Palo Alto. Eduardo thinks there is some irony to the situation that, even though he didn't wait around for an hour, he is still soaked by the time he makes it the porch. He has to trudge his way there because his socks are wet, which doesn't bode well for the rest of the night.

He waves off the cabbie as he runs up the steps. The driver honks twice, so Eduardo doesn't have to turn around to know the cab is rolling down the road, but he turns to look anyway. Something about the red brake lights, and the way they are fading into the rain, makes Eduardo's chest feel heavy. 

It feels like the universe is saying, _no turning back now._

Eduardo turns toward the front door and raises his fist to pound against the wooden surface. He can hear the television from this side of the wood and it's as infuriating to be stuck outside the second time as it was the first time. Eduardo bangs his fist on the surface of the wood again, hoping somewhat bitterly that Sean will answer the door mid-knock so that Eduardo will have the satisfaction of hitting him in the face. If he has to do this twice then he might as well get some enjoyment out of it.  
And even if this really is a drunken dream (Eduardo is still having a _very_ hard time believing this is real) then punching Sean won't hurt anyone. 

What happens instead is that Sean opens the door just when Eduardo has stepped back to wipe his feet, uselessly, on the welcome mat. 

Eduardo's head jerks up at the sound of the door opening. Sean looks the same, wearing an amazed expression as he takes in Eduardo standing on the step. As if it is Sean's house and Eduardo is a party crasher that Sean would rather not let in, but doesn't want it to show on his face. Eduardo wants to punch him for it. 

“Eduardo, what's up?”

Eduardo ignores Sean's greeting, pushing past Sean in the doorway to get into the dry house. He waves his hand dismissively at Dustin's greeting and doesn't bother asking about the girls because it didn't help last time.

“Where's Mark?”

Sean mistakes the question for concern. 

“He just finished a 36 hour coding tear. He went to lay down in his room for a nap.”

Eduardo doesn't care. He wants to know where Mark is so he can avoid seeing him, aware that whatever the hell is going on will only be made worse by seeing Mark. 

“Wardo, are you alright?”

It's Dustin's hand resting on his shoulder that makes Eduardo flinch. He turns to look at Dustin, watches Dustin's eyebrows drop as he scrutinizes Eduardo's face. Eduardo swallows dryly under the attention, only now noticing how jumpy he is acting. 

“You are supposed to be coding,” Sean says. He is waving his hands at Dustin and the computer while Dustin rolls his eyes in response. Eduardo is trying to keep up. Dustin is still asking him what's wrong and someone is pulling at the straps of his bags. Eduardo swallows again and moves to twist his family ring in a nervous motion. The moment he moves his hands the tugging on his bags stops and Eduardo realizes that he was dragging at them in his anxiety. 

“War-“ the syllable fades into an exhalation. 

Eduardo feels like the room has gone silent as he turns to face Mark. 

“Eduardo,” Mark says. It sounds stronger, almost like a yell or a command. 

But it's not. Mark is barely speaking above a whisper. 

Mark looks confused, one hand already sliding into his pocket while he looks wonderingly around the room. 

“Eduardo. Am I still dreaming?”

For a moment, Mark and Eduardo are frozen in place, staring at each other. Eduardo can feel a lump forming in his throat, like maybe his heart has jumped up from his chest and is not trying to choke him. 

He feels the need to run his hand through his hair. 

And flails his arms around just for good measure. 

Eduardo watches Mark blink twice, and look away as if he had never spoken at all. To anyone else, Mark looks like he is still half asleep, but Eduardo knows better. He can see the shock on Mark's face as he takes in the living room, the girls, and Sean with _fractionally_ widened eyes. Both of Mark's hands have slipped into his pockets and his lower lip has slipped between his teeth. 

Eduardo doesn’t realize he is staring until his concentration is broken by one of the girls sitting up on the couch and slurring her words. 

“The worse I get at this the more wasted I am.” She pauses, looking like she might fall over the back of the couch. “Wait, that's not right.”

“We get it,” Sean says from the corner. Eduardo shoots Sean a look over his shoulder. Sean shrugs at him, crossing his arms and letting a smirk twist his lips. 

“Sean -”

“Eduardo.” 

When Eduardo looks back at Mark, he finds that he is being stared at. 

One of Mark’s hands slides from his pockets and into his hair, running his fingers through the patch of curls that have been flattened from being slept on. He tugs at his own hair as he stares at Eduardo with narrowed, blank eyes. Then he slips his hand back into his pockets and Eduardo stops feeling like he’s a troubling piece of code that Mark needs to understand. 

Mark runs his tongue over his bottom lip then swallows. 

As if he had just remembered that he’d spoken, Mark adds, “Can I talk to you in the hall?”

Mark turns toward the door without waiting for Eduardo’s response. Despite the anxiety Eduardo gets looking at the door, he follows Mark through it. 

Mark is leaning against one of the walls while Eduardo closes the door, muting the noises from the living room. Mark has one hand in his hair again. Only now his head is dipped, cradled in his palm. He makes a wounded sound, soft, and Eduardo almost doesn’t believe it came out of Mark’s throat. 

Then Mark looks up. His eyes are wider than Eduardo has ever seen them. There is so much emotion on Mark’s face. 

Then Mark steps up to him and the first words out of his mouth are, “You won't believe me but this has all happened before. I. Do you remember the depositions?” 

In the next moment Eduardo is banging back out the front door. 

Ten feet from the porch, Eduardo drops his bags to the tarmac. Ten more steps and Eduardo lifts his feet higher and he runs. 

And he keeps running despite his shoes and the rain. 

Eduardo runs until his knees decide to buckle. Then he stumbles, staring into the road as the world lurches and the road rises up to meet him. Eduardo’s breath catches as he throws his hands out to stop his fall. He’s suddenly choking on air and sliding across the road. The skin on his palms tears as the momentum he’d built up moves him along the ground. Wet gravel and dirt gets under his skin and Eduardo hisses in pain, catching his breath after the first lurch. 

Eduardo rolls slowly to his side, pulling his knees to his chest to lie curled in the middle of the lane. Carefully, Eduardo cradles his hands to his chest, hissing at the sight of his skin. His knees hurt from road burn and impact bruises, and he can already feel an ache in his the joints from running in oxfords. The last time he had, stupidly, pushed himself this hard he had been laid up with swollen ankles and a pulled muscle. This time he is left lying in the road, listening for approaching cars. The smallest of graces comes from the silent neighborhood and the lack of traffic. If a car were to race around the corner, Eduardo might not have the capacity to move out of the way. 

Eduardo lays there, the coat weighing him down now that it is soaked through, and he feels listless. He just tries to breath with no concept of how much time is passing. Just feeling all of the broken pieces of himself that he has ignored – brutally shoved down since his first step outside the airport in Singapore – and how they feel like broken glass from beer bottles. Tearing his insides, and jangling and clinking together with his every motion. Reminding Eduardo of the disappointment in his father's voice when they last spoke on the phone.

Reminding him of empty Beck’s bottles lined up on the coffee table in the Kirkland dorm. Of green glass backlit by the fridge, and not being able to find the bottle opener. 

After. 

After Mark threw it at him while they discussed thefacebook, while Eduardo held two open bottles of beer because Mark was _Mark_. 

Eduardo inhales sharply, wheezing, and rolls onto his back, still cradling his hands on his chest. The rain pours into his eyes, making him blink until he gives up altogether and closes his eyes. 

\--

Sometime later, Eduardo is startled awake by the sound of his cellphone ringing from inside his jacket. He fumbles for it as a flush rises to cheeks in embarrassment, even though there is no one around to see it. It takes him a moment to get the phone free with his hands swollen and uncooperative. By the time Eduardo gets it free from his pocket (and wow, how did it survive all the rain?) the ringing has stopped.  
There are seven missed calls from _DUSTIN MOSKOVITZ_ and a number of notices about text messages. All which makes Eduardo terrified to look at the time. 

Before he has a chance, the phone starts to ring and the screen lights up with Dustin's name.

“Wardo,” Dustin shouts out in a greeting. “Buddy, mi amigo! Are you alright? You ran off like a -” 

“I’m fine, Dustin,” Eduardo interrupts, preferring to be without the image of whatver Dustin had planned to compare him to stuck in his head. Then he thinks about the abruptness of his response and feels a sinking in his stomach that can only be guilt. _It’s not Dustin’s fault_ , Eduardo chides himself. 

“Sorry, Dustin,I'm just tired.” 

“From the flight, _sure_.” 

Eduardo can practically hear the ear to ear grin on Dustin's face. It's so goddamn familiar he can't help but smile in response. 

“I promise not to make Mark aware that after so long apart, time spent with “regular people,” Mark's Marki-ness has sent our beloved Wardo screaming for the hills,” Dustin responds, the pitch of his voice rising as he speaks.

“Something like that,” Eduardo deadpans. He smiles when he hears Dustin's laughter from the other end of the line. 

Even though his body protests, Eduardo pushes himself up from the street. There's a tree in the nearest front yard. Moving slowly, Eduardo listens to Dustin go on a tangent about yodeling in the mountains or something similar, something ridiculous. Eduardo tunes in and out as he stumbles over the sidewalk. He makes non-committal noises until he is leaning against the tree. 

Dustin's laughter drops off. Then he says, “Speaking of Mark,” as if he hadn't just jumped from that topic two minutes ago. 

“He snapped at Sean,” Dustin says. There is a nervous timbre to his voice. 

“He what?!” Eduardo says, harshly. The words come out sounding like a squawk, and sure he doesn't like Sean, but this is so far from the script. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. It's not just off base for this day, but off base for Mark. 

“Well,” Dustin amends hastily, hearing the panic in Eduardo’s voice. “Well, he snapped at him in a Mark-way, you know? He kicked the girls out and, he’s just looking at him like he is dissecting him.” 

There is the sound of a door closing under Dustin's words. The fact that Dustin has gone to hide is enough to make Eduardo's head spin. He drags his fingers through his hair again.

“Nothing that you, and Chris, and I aren't used to – Mark's a robot and it's no new news. Sean is freaking out. I know you aren't a fan of the guy, but Sean has his inhaler out and I'm hoping you could comeback and talk to Mark before Sean throws something at Mark to distract him. Or before Mark uses adjectives.” As if it's an after thought and not the blackmail it really is, Dustin adds, “You _are_ the only one he listens to.” 

Eduardo chooses not to argue the point. 

“Yeah,” Eduardo says dismissively. He scans the streets for a sign, some clue as to where he is. The skyline has an edge of red and purple as the sun starts to rise. 

“I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Eduardo hangs up with Dustin and then calls a cab, glad that his past-self had the foresight to put the number in his contacts. 

It isn't until Eduardo is in the cab that he realizes the rain has stopped. 

\--

Eduardo has his hand up to knock on the door when the wood gives before he even touches it. Sean holds the door open, looking pissed and stressed and accusing as he stares Eduardo down. He looks like he has been not so much pulling at his hair as tearing it out.

Sean's lips twist in a sneer and he hisses out, “I don't know how, but this is all your fucking fault, Saverin,” between clenched teeth. 

Before Eduardo can shake off the shock and respond, Sean turns his back to him. Mark appears in the doorway and Sean shoulders past him. Mark doesn't give which, judging by the tensing of Sean's back, only pisses him off. Eduardo shoots Mark a look. He can't imagine what Mark could do in less than six hours to infuriate Sean that much. Just thinking about it makes Eduardo's hands twitch with the need to drag his fingers through his hair. 

He gets the same gut feeling he had when Mark had spun round in his chair to grin at him because they had crashed the network, only Eduardo has learned to trust his gut since then and he feels like running right back out the door before something worse than six months probation for Mark comes down on their heads.

“Eduardo.” Mark gives him the once over, then nods. Eduardo doesn't know what it means, but it makes him scrunch his nose and square his shoulders. His stomach is tight and he has Mark's name is on his lips as he clenches his fists in frustration. 

He hears a crash from somewhere in the back of the house, in what might be the kitchen, but Eduardo hasn't seen enough of the house to know. The sound makes Eduardo flinch and glare at Mark. His lips are already pursing around a panicked question, but Mark manages to speak first. Again. 

“You should change out of those clothes. They're soaked and you'll catch pneumonia.” 

Then Mark is turning back into the house and Eduardo just _deflates._

Eduardo closes the front door behind him as he follows Mark inside. His bags are not far from the door and Eduardo contemplates thanking Mark for that, but decides not to. He just reaches for the duffel, hoping that whoever went and got them out of the street did so soon enough for some of the contents to be dry. He picks it up, hoisting it onto his shoulder before he falters and wonders just which room Mark expects him to change in. He can't ask Mark because _of course_ the son of a bitch has already disappeared. It makes Eduardo grit his teeth. Sean's not the only one Eduardo really wants to punch right now. More then anything, though, he wants to get out of this stupid situation. He's had enough of ricocheting between emotions. 

Eduardo moves into the center of the living room. The house is quiet except for the sounds of typing and the static of cans and cups dropping back to table tops. The Xbox is missing and, just like Dustin said, the girls and drugs are gone. Eduardo decides, dripping all over the carpet and combing water from his hair, to not even think about what this means, let alone feel surprised. 

That is when Dustin stumbles out of the hall and into the living room. His relief when he notices Eduardo is immediate, washing the exhaustion off of his face. 

“Wardo! Thank God!” 

In the next moment, Dustin has his arms wrapped around Eduardo's shoulders. Ignoring that he is being soaked, Dustin presses his face into Eduardo's neck and mumbles something about cheese graters. At least that's what Eduardo thinks he is talking about, but he can't be sure. Staring at the top of Dustin's head as he tentatively hugs him back, Eduardo wonders if Mark wasn't the only one he should have watched like a hawk back in Harvard. 

\--

Eduardo finds Mark after he takes a shower. Even after too long spent under a hot stream of water, Eduardo feels out of place in his limbs, out of place in the old Harvard t-shirt that he misplaced ages ago. But he feels even more out of place in this bedroom. 

It's dark with the only light coming from Mark's laptop. It's shining over Mark's face and across the mattress where Mark's shoulders aren't blocking the light and casting a shadow. Mark's eyes are unblinking as they take in the code, and Eduardo feels the tug of an old worry. Involuntarily Eduardo wonders if, in real time, Mark has to wear glasses because he never was careful with his eyes. (In Harvard, he figured it was a foregone conclusion.) 

As soon as he thinks it, Eduardo fights the thought back down. He strides over to the nightstand and flicks the switch on the lamp, vindictively. But Mark doesn't react with more than a grunt to acknowledge Eduardo's presence. Eduardo sits on the edge of the bed and stares at Mark hunching over the computer. Moments pass with no more interaction between them. Eduardo gets tired of it quickly and leans his elbows on his knees, taking in the patterns in the carpet. 

“Go to sleep,” Mark says, out of the blue. His voice is quiet in that distracted way. 

Lifting his head, Eduardo can see Mark’s eyes narrowing as he focuses on his work. 

“Yeah,” Eduardo murmurs back, for lack of better response. He does feel exhausted, but he doesn’t make a move to lie down. 

“It’s three am,” Mark adds. “In New York.” 

“I didn’t fly in from New York, Mark. Not really.” Eduardo runs a hand over his eyes. When he looks over at Mark again he would swear that the set of Mark’s back is more tense than before. 

“Point.”

There is a moment of silence, interrupted only by Mark stabbing at the delete button. There is something familiar about the set of his lips that Eduardo decides to ignore. 

He yawns and says, “Maybe when I’ll wake up and this will have been a dream.”

Mark’s response is immediate and biting. “It can’t be a dream.”

“Why not?” Eduardo ask wearily. He leans back on his elbows and stares at the ceiling to stop himself from staring at Mark.

“Because you can’t have two separate consciousnesses in one space like this, that wouldn’t be logical.”

“So you don’t think you’re just dreaming? Why can’t one of us be dream version or whatever?”

“Because I know I’m real, and I couldn’t be if this was your dream. And I know you’re real, so it can’t be my dream.” 

“How do you know I’m real?” 

Mark doesn’t answer. But his lips purse and he moves his face closer to the screen, as if to force Eduardo’s presence from his attention. The action makes Eduardo sigh. 

\--

Eduardo doesn't remember when he falls asleep but when he wakes up he is on a plane. Being jostled by turbulence and staring into the face of a flight attendant. 

\--

Eduardo races from the cab to the rental house, desperately trying to replace all of his panic with rage. He has his fist up before he even reaches the door. When he starts pounding his fist against the wood Eduardo looks furious. He is prepared to break the door down if Sean doesn't open it in the next five seconds.

He would like to imagine that the reason Sean jumps back at the sight of him, is because Eduardo looks like a hurricane personified. It's how he feels. Eduardo shoves past Sean without a word. He ignores Dustin and the girls as they fall over the back of the couch. He doesn't even have bags to discard because he left them looping around the carousal at the airport. 

Its a case of tunnel vision that he hasn't felt since -

Since he looked up from his fucking _death sentence_ to see Mark coding like he hadn't just arranged a firing squad for his best friend. 

Eduardo heads straight for Mark's room with his blood is pounding in his ears. 

The bedroom door gives way to his warpath too easily, but Eduardo doesn't analyze. Or at least not until after his attempt to throw the door into the wall resulted in a yelp and the thud of a body hitting the carpet. That stops Eduardo in his tracks. 

(And his heart, temporarily) 

He grabs at air before he catches his hand around the doorknob once more, pulling the door back toward his body. The edge of it bites into Eduardo's hip as he leans against it and catches the breath. Four deep pulls of air and then Eduardo peeks around to where Mark is lying on the carpet holding his nose. 

“Fuck, Wardo,” Mark says sounding dazed 

“Fuck,” Eduardo echoes. He clutches to the door because it is the only thing holding him up. He knows what he should be saying in this situation, _”sorry man”,_ or _”are you alright?”_ but they seem to be stuck to the back of his throat. 

Instead he says, “Fuck,” again. 

Then all of Eduardo's anxiety and confusion comes back and he is swinging his body around the door and slamming the door soundly behind him. It makes a crash and shakes the walls around it but Eduardo's already beyond being concerned with it. He's pacing the length of carpet not occupied by Mark's prone body. His fingers are carding through his hair, and for one frustrating moment he even gets his family ring tangled in his hair. A growl seems to rip itself from Eduardo's throat at the same time that Eduardo rips the ring, and some hair, free. 

“What the fuck is this?!” He beseeches of the ceiling. 

“A possibly broken nose,” Mark deadpans in a muffled voice. 

Eduardo whirls on Mark and tries to incinerate him with his eyes. It's somehow Mark fault, that's Eduardo's new thesis. He knows it is unreasonable and that he is edging toward hysteria. 

He tries to catch his breath before he asking, “How is this happening?” 

As soon as the words are out, though, he is choking for air again. 

And pacing. 

“Wardo-”

“How long is this - Is this going to happen again tomorrow?” 

“Wardo-”

“It can't, Mark. _I_ can't be _stuck in whatever the fuck this is!_ ” 

“Wardo.” 

“Don't call me that!” Eduardo screams as he turns toward Mark again. It's a harsh sound that comes out and he is nearly bent at the waist just to force the ugly sound from his throat. 

“How is this possible?” 

“Wardo,” in as soft a tone as Eduardo has ever heard Mark use. 

“Mark, please don't call me that.” Eduardo's limbs are weighted down and he's exhausted. He drops like a stone onto the edge of the bed, crumpling with his forehead pressing against his knees. He wants it to be a fluke or a nightmare, but he's so weary of deluding himself. This isn't going to stop at just twice. Eduardo knows this, in some beyond reason sort of way. And the knowledge settles in his stomach like a cold weight.

“It's a nuisance to call you by your full name.” 

Peeking at Mark, Eduardo sees that his hands are stuffed safely in pockets. Mark is staring at Eduardo in an indiscernible way and it makes Eduardo feel contemptuous. 

“So what? You don't have the time to pronounce two extra letters? You are such a self-absorbed dick, Mark.” He doesn't say “sometimes” even if he means it. Even if he knows Mark isn't always. 

“ _Ed_ wardo.” _Are you fucking happy?_ Mark's eyes ask.

Eduardo suddenly wants to throw his head back and laugh. Hysterically. Because all of this is just too crazy and, _jesus_ it is so Mark and so familiar. 

And it's just hitting him that its a miracle that he made it through security without being way-laid and strip searched. He looked like such a lunatic that _he_ would have called the cops on himself. And he's suddenly thinking of Mark praying over Facebook, rocking back in forth in such a way that - really – praying had only been Eduardo's second guess. He'd thought that Mark had fallen asleep and that, after manhandling Mark's dead weight into the bed, he would have to pick up cheap beer to bring back to the dorm to celebrate with. 

The memory seeps in so smoothly that Eduardo doesn't even feel angry about it. He just wants to smile. 

But Mark is already looking at him like he thinks that, on top of everything else, he's going to have to restrain Eduardo. 

Seriously, laughable. 

“How's your nose?” Eduardo asks, catching himself before he rubs at his own nose self-consciously. 

Mark shrugs. He's biting his bottom lip and Eduardo pretends he doesn't see the smile hiding in plain sight on Mark's face. 

“Come here.” 

Eduardo doesn't even have to crook a finger, or beg. Mark shuffles over easily in his socks. Socks that Mark seems to find fascinating if the way his whole attention drops to them when his knobbly knees collide with Eduardo's. Eduardo ignores how that makes him feel.

And how spreading his legs so he can draw Mark in closer makes the back of his neck go hot. 

Eduardo doesn't consciously grab for Mark's wrist to tug him closer, doesn't even realize that he has done so until his can feel bone and skin beneath his fingers. Startled, Eduardo stares at his hand as if it is foreign. He runs his thumb over the raised vein on top of Mark's wrist, to see if he can. To make sure it is actually his hand. 

It is. So he drops Mark's arm hastily and coughs to cover up the way he had inhaled quickly at the sensation of the nearly blonde hairs on Mark's wrist bristly beneath the pad of his thumb. 

_Nose_ , Eduardo thinks in an attempt to refocus. 

And has to hold back another laugh. And a prayer that this does turn out to be a dream. 

“Look at me,” Eduardo says softly and Mark looks blankly back him. Though he's still biting his lip, Eduardo's traitorous mind observes and fucking highlights. It couldn't possibly be bad enough that he's running his fingers along the lines of Mark's nose, pressing gently and noting the places that make Mark's face wince for a microsecond, without his eyes jumping towards Mark's lips every few seconds. 

“What are you doing,” Mark asks, eyes searching Eduardo’s face for any sort of tell. Whatever he is looking for, he doesn't find. Eduardo makes sure to school his features as he hastily removes his hands from Mark's person.

“I don't think it's broken,” Eduardo murmurs. There is a weight in his stomach. He wants to run again, he wants to get away because this is far worse than he had thought. Eduardo tucks his hands in his pockets as they begin to shake, even though it makes his elbows stick out awkwardly. (He tries to keep his mind from thinking about wings or fowl.) 

Because he can't look Mark in the eyes without having to admit to himself that he is falling into this - _into Mark_ \- all over again. And its too soon, its too much, and he had sworn that he was over this. Over Mark and this need to please - Eduardo fixes his gaze on a spot on the wall just over Mark's shoulder. 

“Eduardo?” 

Eduardo blinks and the room comes back into focus. Mark is staring at him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Mark's right arm is hanging loosely at his side as if Mark had pulled his hand from his pocket with the intention of reaching out toward Eduardo, but gave up. Eduardo stares at Mark's hand and the way that Mark's fingers are curled into a loose fist. As if self-conscious of the scrutiny, Mark's fingers twitch, tightening into a fist before releasing again. 

“Eduardo.” 

Eduardo looks into Mark's eyes. They're narrowed, moving quickly to take in every minute detail of Eduardo's face. Eduardo tries to keep looking detached, but despite his best effort Eduardo is sure that he is still wearing his heart on his sleeve. The way Mark nods decisively, like he's come to a conclusion, only backs up Eduardo's less than charitable thoughts. 

“We should have a truce,” Mark says. Then he nods again, as if Eduardo has already agreed as if Eduardo has any idea of what is going on in Mark's head. 

“Pardon?” 

“A truce. Agreeing to not argue about the present.” Here Mark frowns. His right hand slips back into his pocket and he rocks forward on his heels. “Or the future?” 

“I know what a truce is.” Eduardo can't help the way his voice rises an octave in frustration or the way he drops his head into his hands. Mark grunts and Eduardo knows without looking that Mark is shrugging his shoulders. He snorts while he drags his fingers deeper into his hair. Eduardo squeezes his eyes tightly shut, so he doesn't see the carpet. 

He doesn't see Mark's bunched socks come into view as Mark shuffles closer. Doesn't even realize how close Mark is until he's jerked out of his mounting hysteria by the brief brush of Mark's hand on his shoulder. Mark's hand is back in his pocket by the time Eduardo whips his head around to look at Mark. Moving to sit on the bed, Mark stares resolutely at the wall, hunching his shoulders as he lowers himself onto the mattress. They both go still when Mark's proximity has their thighs brushing. 

“You're freaking me out.” 

“Thanks so much, Mark,” Eduardo retorts sarcastically. He regrets it as soon as the words leave his lips because Mark flinches and Eduardo never thought he would see the day. Except he still knows Mark. If he didn't know Mark so well, it wouldn't be so easy to hurt him. 

Mark mutters, “That's not what I meant,” and he is chewing his lip again. Eduardo knows that it is Mark's way of delaying the moment when he has to explain just what it was that he actually meant. So Eduardo waits, trying not have any expectations. 

He certainly doesn't expect Mark to grab his hand.

Eduardo sits and stares dumbfounded at the way Mark is twining their fingers. Eduardo's cheeks are steadily going red and he can feel his eyes widening, his eyebrows making a getaway towards his hair. But Mark sits calmly, like he hasn't reached out for his ex-best friend's hand. He continues to speak calmly, as if he isn't running his thumb over Eduardo's knuckles. A shiver runs down Eduardo's spine. The pads of Mark's fingers are calloused but not the rest of his hand, Eduardo observes. He can't help staring, fixated, at the way their fingers look laced together. 

When Eduardo tunes back in Mark has stopped speaking. Instead he is staring, without blinking, back at him. Eduardo thinks, as he stares back into Mark's too fucking blue eyes that if they were two different people, they would be cowering together under the blankets. 

“You should sleep, Wardo.” 

Eduardo lets the nickname pass without objection.

\--

Mark leaves the room with his laptop pressed between his elbow and his ribs, but without mentioning that he had held Eduardo's hand. Which, if Eduardo is lying to himself, is a relief. 

After the door closes with a quiet click of wood on wood, Eduardo turns toward Mark's closet. He's regretting leaving his bag back at the airport, but at least Mark has a few clean shirts. Eduardo borrows one and strips to his boxers. There's a bathroom off of the bedroom and with any luck there will be a towel in there that he can use to wipe down his slightly damp limbs, but Eduardo can't muster the energy to care. He walks around to the opposite side of the bed from where he had sat down in his damp clothing. Eduardo crawls under the covers, dragging a pillow down toward his chest. The light switch is beside the door and since Mark didn't flip the switch when he left, the lights are still on overhead. Eduardo doesn't care. He curls his body around the pillow and pulls the covers over his head instead. 

The ghost of Mark's thumb rubbing over his skin is still sending a prickling feeling over the back of Eduardo's neck and limbs. He shivers, closing his eyes, and for a moment he can imagine that he and Mark are together huddling under the blanket. Drifting off with to an imaginary Mark watching him sleepily, Eduardo feels like he actually is twenty years old again. 

\--

Eduardo wakes up hours later. He doesn't feel better, but he doesn't feel worse. 

He stretches beneath the covers, pointing his toes and scratching idly at his stomach beneath Mark's shirt. He's staring at the ceiling of Mark's bedroom in Palo Alto, for the first time that he has fallen asleep while in this – whatever. Eduardo rolls over. The alarm clock reads seven am and a handful of minutes. The fanlight overhead isn't the only source of light in the room, what with the windows lacking curtains. 

What gets Eduardo out of bed, though, is the silence of the rest of the house. He listens and imagines that he can hear the tap-tap of a keyboard, but its the lack of giggling and video games that has Eduardo frowning. Sure, he has no real experience with living in the same house as Sean-fucking-Parker, but Eduardo doubts there is ever a silent moment. At the very least there should be annoying snoring coming through the walls. 

He borrows a pair of sweatpants from Mark's floor, a pair that doesn't look suspicious or filthy from food. They're the kind with elastic on the ankles and it squeezes his calves so he pulls them to his knees as he stands. Then he pads barefoot to the door. 

Its quiet in the hall, with the door that separates the bedrooms from the living room shut. Eduardo goes to it faster than he moved to the bedroom door. It's childish, but the hall gives Eduardo a sinking feeling in his stomach. He has to leave the hall before his throat runs dry. 

In his haste, Eduardo slams the door to the hall behind him. He flinches and from where they are sitting side by side on the couch, Dustin and Mark look up from their laptops. Like opposites, Dustin smiles widely while Mark frowns minutely. Eduardo gives them a half wave in greeting. 

There is a tap-tapping from the kitchen and the hum of the refrigerator humming, but no snoring or giggling or chattering. 

Eduardo tries not to look happy or startled. Instead, he takes in the living room and the pool behind the sliding glass doors. The light comes in making the house look nice, even thought its filthy with junk food wrappers and discarded containers. Eduardo wonders if this was how Mark saw it for the first time. 

Then he turns back to Dustin and Mark, and the television catches his eye. A cartoon version of a town-grid is running on loop, and it only takes a moment of watching the animated head of a groundhog jump around the screen for Eduardo to guess the movie. 

“Were you two watching Groundhog day?” 

Mark blinks, lifting his gaze from the laptop again. He looks at the TV in surprise.  
Dustin laughs, “Huh. I forgot you put that on.” 

He nudges Mark with his elbow and Mark shoves him back. Eduardo moves to perch on a the coffee table, staring at the screen even though he is speaking to Mark.

“Do you think this would help somehow?” There is a trace of disbelief in his voice. When Mark doesn't answer Eduardo turns to look at him. And _of course_ Mark shrugs. Dustin looks between the two of them in confusion. 

“Are we going to bond, just the three of us? Chris is going to be so jealous!” 

“We're just going to watch a movie,” Mark snaps, sneering. But Dustin isn't put out, grinning brightly enough that the corners of Mark's lips lift. Eduardo finds a smile on his own face as well. 

“What's the likelihood that you two idiots have popcorn in the kitchen?”

\--

Eduardo's drunk by the time the movie ends for the third time. Dustin had made up a drinking game and they'd found beer and the tequila Sean had stashed in the cupboard. When Sean had realized they'd not only found his stash but were consuming it whether he liked it or not, he had invited himself to play. Eduardo hadn't been happy about having Sean seated on the carpet at Dustin's feet joking along with them, but it was better than having him hover over the sofa with his arms crossed like an angry and disappointed housewife. Now Sean and Dustin are passed out on the carpet, half under the coffee table, where they had slid in a drunken giggle fit twenty minutes into the third viewing. One of Dustin's hands was even stuck under the couch. 

Eduardo laughs fully at the sight of them, blood and head warm with the alcohol. He's feeling magnanimous; that's the only reason he's kicked his feet up on Mark's lap for the last forty-five minutes. 

Eduardo is drunk enough to actually believe that. 

Laughing against the fan of his fingers, Eduardo shifts his feet restlessly and holds a hand to his stomach. There is a warm hand curling around his ankle in seconds, thumb rubbing gently against the bone. Eduardo gasps against his fingers, then laughs again. He curls upward, forehead headed for his knees before he slides drunkenly against the side of the couch. The hand on his ankle holds on like an anchor. 

 

When he is capable of breathing without laughing and he's able to think straight, Eduardo peeks between his fingers at Mark. Mark is staring at the television screen intensely, looking like he isn't nursing his third beer. The only thing that gives him away is that he is voluntarily touching another human being. 

Eduardo is drunk enough not to pursue that thought any further. 

“Do you really think anything in that movie could help us,” Eduardo asks, very slowly enunciating each letter. Mark's lips tug up in a smile. Its faint but Eduardo can see it and it – no. The beer is what makes his chest warm. Eduardo shakes his head, even though he is grinning in response. 

Mark nods. “The concept makes more sense if it is based on truth.” 

“You think Harold Ramis experienced a time-loop?” Eduardo giggles. 

Mark snorts a laugh. He presses the rim of his beer to his lips and after a second huff of breath that is barely a laugh passes, Mark tips the beer back and drains it. Eduardo watches Mark's Adam's apple bob and feels his own throat run dry. 

“So how long do you think we'll be stuck in this,” Eduardo ask. He waves one hand to indicate the living room and the day, and maybe also their younger selves. Mark shrugs in response. For the first time in a long time it doesn't look like “fuck you” to Eduardo's eyes. 

After the movie Eduardo and Mark don't fall into a drunken slumber like Dustin and Sean. Instead, they stumble over the two unconscious bodies on the floor and head toward the back door, muffling their giggling behind their hands. Its about noon and the sun is far too bright for Eduardo's tastes, but luckily one of the interns had left their sunglasses abandoned on the patio table, and he snatches them up as he follows Mark toward the pool. From experience, Eduardo knows that he is a happy drunk, and Mark is a clever (not angry) drunk. If Eduardo were sober enough to need an explanation for why they were getting along, that would be a good enough excuse. 

Mark leads them to pool deck and then, with the grace of a newborn colt, Mark throws himself to the deck and lies on his stomach. Eduardo watches, the infectious giggling sticking in his throat as he stares at the pale stretch of skin that is showing from where Mark's shirt has ridden up. He coughs into his fist and bends to pull the cotton hem down. 

Mark hums out a question as he turns his head from where its nestled in his arms to look up at Eduardo. Eduardo coughs again as he tries to choke out, “You'll burn.”

His head feels heavy, so instead of straightening Eduardo follows gravity's momentum and sprawls out on the deck beside Mark. Lying on his back, Eduardo pushes his sunglasses into place on his nose and stares into the blue Californian sky. 

“I think we should research,” Eduardo says after a beat of silence. He has one hand reaching out from his side and his fingers brush Mark's side. Eduardo doesn't mean for it to happen, the first time. 

“I think we should look into time-travel and black holes,” Eduardo slurs. He's brushing his thumb along Mark's skin, effectively pushing Mark's shirt back out of the way. Against the deck, Mark shifts closer into the touch. An affirmative sound escapes from between his arms and Eduardo smiles. He closes his eyes and explains, “Well, in the movie he was able to become an expert in a lot of things. Why couldn't we become experts and then find our way out of this?”

There a rolling motion that starts in Mark's shoulders and flows all the way to his waist where Eduardo feels it against his thumb. Squinting at Mark through the side of his glasses, Eduardo assesses whether or not what he felt was a shrug. 

“At the very least, we could check the libraries for anything like this,” Eduardo waves his free hand above his head, “ever happening before.”

Mark doesn't speak, but Eduardo decides that they are in agreement.

\--

Eduardo starts to lose track of how long he and Mark have spent reliving their past around the same time he decides that his time at Harvard would have been better served studying astrophysics. 

For one, he never would have had the money to fund Facebook and would never have ended up in this situation in the first place. For another, he wouldn't currently be sitting in a public library at eight am with a travelers mug of coffee and a stress headache. 

Eduardo has been pouring over textbooks, and anything related to space and time that he can gets his hands on. He had started going to the library the day after, he had laid on the pool deck with Mark nearby and talked about gathering data while Mark hummed along. 

If the same day wasn't being refreshed every morning the librarians would know Eduardo by sight, on a first name basis, and he would have already invited them to Thanksgiving with his family. If this ever ends he might just do that last one, even if it comes off fairly creepy.

\--

“I just don't understand,” Eduardo bemoans to the ceiling and Mark's turned back. Mark hums back at him which is usually enough to rally Eduardo into an account o every crackpot and every fiction novel he had stumbled upon thinking, initially, it was worth a shot. Today, however and for whatever reason, be it the same questions from Helen the librarian for nigh on the hundredth time or being knocked into by the same kid causing the kid's coffee to spill all over Eduardo even though he had tried to avoid him, and maybe it was a combination of all of the same things that made Mark's humming responses, his clear disinterest, grating to Eduardo's ears. Jumping up from the couch, Eduardo shoots a scathing look at the back of Mark's neck. 

Mark is on his computer again, like always, and it would be very satisfying in Eduardo's opinion to smash it against the nearest wall. He doesn't act on the thought but asks a question of Mark in his best condescending tone. 

“Why is it, that while we're stuck in a time loop the only thing that catches your attention, the only thing you care about is Facebook?”

He tries to pour all of his disgust into the word _Facebook_. 

“It's not like you ever understood Facebook, Wardo.”

It's a throwaway comment. Mark barely moves the corners of his lips to utter the words, but it does what it is meant to, what it will always do to Eduardo. It strikes him hard in the center of his chest and makes him stare disbelievingly at Mark. He swallows down the nave hurt of his twenty year old self, the one that had been so head over heels in love with his best friend that he couldn't even see a death sentence when it stared back at him through black letters on white paper. 

“Fuck this,” Eduardo grunts. He wipes his hands on his trousers as he pushes himself up. He moves in controlled motions towards the bedroom door. 

He slams out of the hallway and into the main room. Sometime in between the tapping sound of Mark's fingers on the laptop keys must have stopped because from behind Eduardo, Mark is rushing behind him. Vindictively, Eduardo throws the hallway door in Mark's face and takes, with his longer legs, a few quick strides to the front door. 

It flies open with in a second of Eduardo slamming it shut. 

“Eduardo,” Mark calls. 

Eduardo is storming towards Sean's car but he throws his own cutting words over his shoulder when Mark tries to follow.

“This won't work because even now you're still trying to screw me out of the company.”

Eduardo rounds the car and pulls his keys out of his pocket from where he slid them when he got back from the library. He manually opens the door with the key and stares at Mark over the top of the car. 

“We could relive every fucking day leading up to me signing the contracts a hundred times, couldn't we?” Eduardo asks as he jerks the drivers' door open. “And you wouldn't change a goddamned thing.”

“Wardo,” Mark says. 

Eduardo throws himself into the car and ignores Mark's attempts to open the passenger door. He ignores the way Mark slaps the window and screams his name through the surface. 

\--

By the time Eduardo hits the interstate the rain is so heavy that he can't see anymore than five feet ahead of him, despite the speed of his windshield wipers. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel and his teeth _ache_ from clenching them so hard. He thinks he hears them crack, but it's only the sound of hail smacking the windshield. The sound makes him flinch and jerk his foot on the brake. The car lurches before Eduardo rights it and returns his foot to the gas. Eduardo slowly applies more pressure to the pedal, accelerating into the blindness, feeling careless in a way that he has taught himself not to be. Because, somewhere in coming to the realization that the universe is contriving to drive him, in the form of high waters, back to Mark and keep him there, Eduardo found his reckless streak. 

When he finally turns off the road it is too fast and too sudden of a stop. He isn't wearing a seat belt as if it's an act of rebellion. He's almost disappointed when he barely gets whiplash and the car doesn't flip. Wanting to feel something beyond his rage, Eduardo slaps a hand down on the dashboard. Pain vibrates up his arm and still Eduardo clenches his teeth harder. 

The rain roars outside the window and lightening flashes in the sky. 

He isn't even halfway to San Francisco. 

Eduardo slaps the dashboard again. His heart aches and his limbs feel out of place. It's as if he is a ball of rage and not even running until he collapses sounds cathartic, he slaps the dashboard wishing that the plastic could feel it. He is so angry that he wants to hurt the car, wants it to cry in pain. He wants it to be obliterated beneath his touch. 

On the passenger seat his phone is buzzing with in-coming calls. By the time Eduardo was out of the neighborhood there were already fifteen new text messages from Dustin, not counting the ones Christy has been sending him which Eduardo has deleted without reading.

Dustin has called at least twice already but Eduardo is done caring. Mark can take his site and his coding and his emotionally-stunted brain and shove them up his ass, as far as Eduardo is concerned. Eduardo wants to wash his hands of it. 

Except, tomorrow is going to start this all over again and he has absolutely no choice. 

“Fuck!” Eduardo screams, throwing himself back in the seat and stomping at the floor. His clothes are too tight and in his mind's eye Eduardo is watching Mark across the deposition table shrugging. Shrugging and murmuring a mocking 'oops' to Eduardo's disbelief. 

When he cools down enough that his punching and slapping of the car's interior has turned into shaking, Eduardo thinks that, all this hate is because once again, he had thought Mark was offering him everything. And Eduardo was fooled again. He can't touch and he can't have. They aren't even friends. And Eduardo is angry again because there are tears burning his eyes and he feels so stupid for forgetting it was all just an (awful) attempt at a truce. 

Eduardo clambers into the back of the car as he starts to cry. He curls in on himself in between stray pieces of Sean's clothing, back pressed to the door and the window cold against his neck. Holding tight to his knees Eduardo begs for the rain to end. 

\--

When he wakes up, neck stiff and sprawled over the backseat, it is still raining. 

Eduardo looks out at it as he rubs the dry, sticky tear tracks from his cheeks. He feels bone tired and his joints are stiff from the position he has been in. The choice, Eduardo thinks as he stares out at the veil of falling water, is either to turn around and go back or to go forward. _There be monsters_ , Eduardo thinks in regards to both directions. He tucks his hands beneath his arms and mulls on that for a moment before letting his mind go blissfully blank. 

\--

Eduardo's phone is silent in the front seat and, when he closes his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, Eduardo could almost fall back to sleep to the even rhythm of drops on the glass. The choice should be easy. Even if something were to happen in the rain, chances are high that everything would just begin all over again. Same day, same plane. 

Same Eduardo. 

Except - the dark driving force that had led him barreling down the tarmac has died down and even though Eduardo doesn't want to, he is starting to look at what Mark said differently. He opens his eyes and stares at the windshield and thinks about the way Mark's shoulders had been set when he had spoken. They weren't tight and there wasn't a defensiveness to the way Mark sat. Eduardo might not know Mark the way he is now, but something about being back in that house has made Mark and Eduardo retreat into past defensive mechanisms. (For one, Eduardo hasn't thrown anything near a temper tantrum in years.) And Eduardo knows, knew, the boy Mark was at twenty.

Eduardo sighs and draws a hand over his face. Then he clambers into the front seat.

\--

On the way back to Palo Alto Eduardo makes a mental list of all of the things he has ever wanted to do. Everything from wanting to see a Koala when he was eight to last summer when the sun was high in Singapore and he was buzzed enough to contemplate sky diving lessons. He organizes the list by two variables: time needed to learn or complete the task and what is more important to finish before this _time-trip_ or whatever ends. 

The rain eases up the closer he gets to the house (Mark). Eduardo sighs and rests his forearm on the windowsill. 

\--

When Eduardo gets within in a block of the house he moves slower, turning the street corner with his foot on the brake and listening to the squelch of tires on water and debris. The rain has dried up and except for a few scattered, white clouds in the sky, the skyline is blue. As if it hadn't rained at all. 

\--

Eduardo leaves his phone on the front seat, ignoring all of his messages, too emotionally exhausted to bother with preparing himself for whatever mess Mark made when he left in a whirlwind. He could be walking into a disaster zone, or thing could be exactly as they were the first night Eduardo showed up. It's late afternoon, so hopefully Sean and his so-called friends are passed out. 

From the lawn, the house is quiet, but Mark keeps the interns working day and night so there should be at least one person awake inside to let Eduardo in. Maybe, Eduardo thinks as he regards Sean's key ring , that he should be grateful that Mark never actually gave Sean a key to the house. But Eduardo never received a key either and - 

Eduardo rolls his shoulders. It was years ago, Eduardo forces his mind to remember. Despite the situation things are actually finished between him and Mark. He is only back because avoidance is futile. At least this time Eduardo is walking back inside with a plan, one that won't waste his time. 

Eduardo knocks twice, then takes a step back to wait. He rock forwards on his heels. Less than a minute passes but to Eduardo, who isn't feeling patient, it seems like ages. He reaches for the doorknob, planning to fiddle with it while he waits. To Eduardo's surprise, the knob turns and the door pushes open. 

He pokes his head in first, before moving all the way inside. The living room is empty and there isn't even the sound of click-clacking keyboards. Through the sliding glass door at the back, however, Eduardo can see Dustin sitting at the metal frame of a patio table. His back is to the door and he is still so Eduardo suspects that Dustin is keeping watch of the site on his laptop. 

“Wardo,” Mark murmurs from off to the left, coming out of the hallway just as Eduardo closes the door. 

Mark doesn't move as he and Eduardo stare at each other, but he must mentally shake himself because Mark corrects himself. 

“Eduardo.”

“Mark.”

“You came back.”

Eduardo doesn't notice the way Mark looks him over, eyes wider than normal and his hands clenching and opening at his sides.

It's stating the obvious when Eduardo replies, “Yeah. I did,” but it's better than screaming at each other.

There's a twitch at the corner of Mark's lips, like he might want to smile. Instead Mark licks his lips and parts them, planing to say something that Eduardo knows, without a doubt, that he does not want to hear.  
So Eduardo turns his back on Mark and heads for the back door. 

“Hey Dustin,” Eduardo says. 

Dustin's head tips back and he smiles upside down at Eduardo.

“ _War~do_ ,” Dustin sing-songs. His teeth show when he smiles and there is something so normal about that, about the way Dustin turns slowly in his chair to give Eduardo his full attention that makes Eduardo smile in relief. 

“Do you have a moment?” Eduardo asks. 

Mark is the one who asks, “What do you need?

Eduardo doesn't turn around to see Mark standing in the open doorway.

“Not that it's any of your business, but,” Eduardo says, “I want Dustin to hack in and get the blue prints to the Art Gallery for me.” He looks at Dustin as he speaks and Dustin frowns, gaze shifting between Eduardo and Mark. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to steal a work of art.”

\--

For two weeks Eduardo wakes up on the plane to SFO, drives to Mark's house, has Dustin hack the Art Gallery's building plans from an online archive, and studies the plans until he can draw the floor plan freehand. Everyday Dustin gives him a confused look before saying, “Okee dokee.”

The first four days, Dustin would also look to Mark, who had hovered for hours after Eduardo returned to the house. If he had thought Mark could be fretful, Eduardo would think that was what he was doing. He would follow Eduardo from room to room and when he would sit down to code it was as if Mark was too distracted to do more than hunt and peck. 

By the fifth day, though, Mark had disappeared into his room, leaving Eduardo to make and remake flashcards as he pleased. Eduardo doesn't give the odd behavior, or Mark's disappearance, much thought until the third week. 

Eduardo is in the living room, sitting cross-legged and leaned over the coffee table. He is drawing the blue prints from memory while he goes through the steps to securely shut down security under his breath. Dustin is in the far corner spinning in his desk chair while he waits for code to compile. He is also loudly humming _Suga Suga_ while he waits. When Dustin spontaneously breaks into the chorus Eduardo looks up with a laugh. 

“Don't front,” Dustin says with a grin. “You love that song.”

Eduardo opens his mouth to respond when he's interrupted by the sound of a crash. It's coming from one of the bedrooms in the back, but it's still early and the majority of the programmers are at work in the dining room. Sean comes out of the kitchen, looking tired and cupping a mug of coffee. There is a second crash and Dustin, Sean, and Eduardo just stare blankly at the hallway door. There is a third crash and then an outraged yell and suddenly all three of them are in motion. 

Dustin's chair hits the wall as he shoves out of it and makes a run for the door. Eduardo is tripping over his feet as Dustin leaps over the coffee table and slides knees first into the door. Sean's slower, setting his coffee down as he goes. A frown is screwing up his mouth and Eduardo thinks that the only thing going through Sean's mind is that there's something wrong with his 'golden-ticket.' Except, if Sean wasn't moving calmly he wouldn't have been able to slide between Dustin and Eduardo and open the door. In their frantic states, neither Eduardo nor Dustin could seem to figure out how to make the handle work. 

When they get into Mark's room his head jerks up from where he had it cradled in his hands. They probably scared the shit out of him, bursting into his room like they did. Dustin moves to his side first, he reaches out to touch Mark who flinches away. His eyes are nearly as hard set as his frown, but his eyes look wet and his cheeks are flushed. His hair looks like he's been pulling on it. 

And then there is the state of his laptop which is smashed to pieces in the corner of the room. There are dents in the walls, as if Mark threw the laptop against them. 

“What the fuck, Mark?”

Eduardo isn't sure who it is that spoke until Mark's steely gaze swings toward Sean. 

“It's none of your fucking business, Sean.”

He shoves past all of them, out the door and further, out of the hallway. Dustin is the first one to move, already out of the hallway by the time the sound of the front door closing clicking in a controlled action instead of slamming echoes back to them. Eduardo follows more slowly, his stomach twisted. He feels like he should understand. This is so different from Mark's usual behavior. Even when he's angry, Eduardo has only ever heard him yell once. He heads out onto the porch with Sean shuffling even more slowly behind him. Sean hovers at the front door, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed tightly across his chest and licking his lips nervously while Eduardo stands in the middle of the porch, dumbfounded. He watches Dustin curl an arm over Mark's shoulders, pulling the curled form up against his side and whispering something against Mark's ear. Eduardo feels cold, and jealous in a way that makes him hate himself. 

Mark doesn't react. Just digs his fingers deeper into his hair.

\--

Sean and Eduardo go back into the house after it becomes clear that they aren't necessary. Inside the house, Eduardo goes back to his blue prints and his note cards, but he has a hard time focusing on them. He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at it and digging his nails into his scalp. Neither does much to focus his attention. 

He might as well give it up as a lost cause, he decides, when the quiet sound of the front door opening and closing draws his attention immediately. Dustin smiles at Eduardo from over Mark's shoulder. It's a sad, tight-lipped smile. Then Dustin moves slowly around Mark and moves towards his forgotten desktop. 

Mark stands stock still, his hands clenching at his sides. It's a full beat of Mark staring ahead of him unseeing and opening and closing his hands. His body is tense.

Eduardo doesn't know what's worse, how high strung Mark looks or the fact that he notices it instantly.  
Eduardo swallows hard and turns back to the surface of the coffee table and his sketch of the art museum. It doesn't keep him from noticing when Mark trudges out of the room and through the hallway doorway. 

It only takes a moment for Eduardo to find his feet and follow.

\--

“Mark,” Eduardo calls. He knocks on the door of one of the bedrooms as he speaks. Mark wasn't in his bedroom, or any of the other rooms, so by process of elimination this is the only room left. Like every time Eduardo knocked, though there isn't a response so Eduardo slowly eases the door open. Mark turns his head minutely, enough for Eduardo to push the door open and step inside. 

“Hey,” Eduardo says. Mark gives a small nod before facing the bedroom wall opposite from the door. He is standing in front of the bed and still opening his hands. 

“Are you alright?”

Mark shrugs, then tenses nearly simultaneously with Eduardo's own coiling muscles. 

“Fine, _Ed_ uardo.”

“You can,” Eduardo starts. The sentence falls dead in the air between them. 

When Mark speaks again there is an edge to his voice. 

“I am _fine_ Eduardo.”

Eduardo leaves the room as quietly as he came in, face flushed with embarrassment and anger. 

\--

It bounces around in Eduardo's head the next time he wakes up on the flight to SFO. 

_You can tell me. I'm the guy who wants to help._

Eduardo scrunches his eyes shut and tightens his fingers around the arms rests.

 _If there's something wrong, if there's ever_ anything _wrong, you can tell me. I'm the guy that wants to help._

The memory makes Eduardo's heart hurt, though not in the usual way. It is a sympathetic pang rather than one born of grief. He misses being that boy, the one so willing to give, even if that boy's naivete was his Achilles heel. No matter what, Eduardo was bound to be stomped on by the world for wearing his heart on his sleeve. Not that he thinks Mark did him any favors by beating the world to the punch. 

“Are you alright, sir?” the flight attendant asks Eduardo. 

Slowly opening his eyes Eduardo swallows and says, “I'm not fond of flying.

It's not exactly a lie; there are only so many times that he can wake up to the shake of turbulence without being utterly over air travel. The attendant smiles at him, saying something useless and sympathetic before she removes her hand from Eduardo's shoulder and passes on. Eduardo tilts his head further against his seat and closes his eyes again. The plane shakes underfoot as Eduardo drifts. 

He drifts as he steps off the plane, feeling less like himself as he moves through the airport at a snail's pace. His feet are leaden with memories and his head feels heavy on his shoulders. There is no way for Eduardo to know how much time he has already spent in this bubble in time. It could be a year as far as he knows, maybe that's what had left Mark broken the day before, coaxed out of his bedroom only by Dustin, and even then, only for an hour before he had snuck back into the hallway and hidden away until the sun had set and the day began again. 

Eduardo's shoes making soft clacking sounds on the airport floor as he moves from baggage claim with his computer bag slung over one shoulder. With one hand tucked into his pocket, Eduardo heads for the pick-up bay, having become accustomed to finding his own transportation back to the house in Palo Alto. It is raining outside of the automatic doors and something about the sight causes Eduardo to falter. 

He turns around and goes back for his forgotten duffel bag. Security jostles him, having nothing better to do in the mostly dead building. It takes twenty-minutes to get back to the conveyer belt where Eduardo's duffel is going around in a solitary loop. He heaves it up and onto his other shoulder, then walks just as slowly back through the building as he had the first time. 

When Eduardo gets back to the pick-up/drop-off zone it is nearly forty-minutes since he exited the plane. He waited longer for Mark to stand him up. A taxi pulls up to the curb and the driver opens his door, stepping halfway out before Eduardo can tell him that, 'no, I'll just take my bags into the backseat.' The driver twists back into his seat, flipping on the meter as he goes. The click-click of the older meter running up numbers is a soothing sound. Eduardo lets it soothe him as he continues to drift, resting his head against the rain streaked window because it feels too heavy to be supported by bone and muscle.

Eduardo makes plan as he stares at the rain making tangled paths on the glass. Tomorrow he will convince Mark into Sean's car; then Eduardo can see if the horrid weather is trying to keep him near Mark or inside the summer rental. If they, Mark and he and whoever else wants to go, can make it out of the city without the obstruction of a hailstorm then Eduardo can go to the art museum and see the security with his eyes. 

Eduardo closes his eyes and shuffles closer to the door. If tomorrow goes to plan, he could be one step closer to having stolen _something_ , and closer to making this loop worthwhile. He smiles and tucks his arms around his body, and under his coat.

“Sir,” the driver calls. And Eduardo hums in response, not bothering to open his eyes, but he does turn his head in the man's direction. “Are you sure this is the right address,” the driver asks in a worried tone. Eduardo frowns. He opens his eyes to the sight of flashing red-and-blue lights.

The occupants of the house have surged outside before Eduardo's arrival. Their bodies are twisted around each other, holding each other up as they move jerkily under the night sky. The only light piercing the scene is the red and blue, and it makes the dark thing that has sunken into Eduardo's stomach claw at him. His stomach feels like it being torn to ribbons as he tries to take in everyone at once. But he can't distinguish anyone, can't identify who is missing. 

(It's more that he _doesn't_ want to acknowledge anything. Because only one person, besides Eduardo, ever changes.) 

Eduardo picks out Sean first. Sean is pacing along the far side of the yard, one hand in his hair and the other pressing a phone to his ear. Phone, Eduardo thinks, scrambling for his cellphone, which is turned off and useless in his pocket. Eduardo holds the power button down with more force than is necessary. His phone comes on but the network takes to long to find. Abandoning it on the seat, Eduardo barrels out of the vehicle. He tosses his bags onto the lawn and races for Sean. 

“Motherfucker,” Sean murmurs at the sight of him. He strides toward Eduardo, the phone falling from his ear then to the ground as he moves. It is useless, and the battery falls out upon impact. Eduardo notices it, not that he knows why the plastic land line is important. All it does is distract Eduardo and allow Sean the time to wrap his arms around Eduardo's back. It is the very last thing Eduardo ever thought would happen to him. Sean Parker embraces him and Eduardo starts to shake. 

“Why was your phone off, you son of a bitch?” Sean growls against Eduardo's shoulder. His fingers dig into Eduardo's back as he hold him as tight to him as possible, softening the sting of Sean's tone. Eduardo's shoulder is quickly damp with Sean's tears and Eduardo holds Sean to him because it feels like the right thing to do. Over Sean's shoulder, Eduardo can see the paramedics rolling a body in a body bag out on a stretcher. 

“Oh god,” Eduardo says, unaware that the words are his own. 

Then Sean is holding him up and back from scrambling to the ground, from crawling across the interns that are collapsed in grief and over his bags and wrapping himself around the leg of the stretcher to impede it's journey toward the ambulance -

“Oh god,” Eduardo murmurs again as he stretches his arms out from around Sean's body. He reaches with his fingers for the body obscured beneath the bag and he might move closer to Sean in an attempt to go _through him_. But Sean doesn't let him go. Instead, he murmurs something to Eduardo that Eduardo doesn't strain himself to hear. They slowly collapse to the ground and they cry into each other's shoulders. Sean holds onto Eduardo to keep himself together and to keep Eduardo from getting any closer to what he cannot even begin to ask about. Eduardo barely recognizes that he is being held. 

\--

Eduardo doesn't know if it is minutes or hours after the stretcher is loaded onto the ambulance that Sean finally lets Eduardo free. Enough time has past that the ambulance is gone, leaving only one patrol car and an older officer who is trying to coax the interns back into the house. Sean and Eduardo are not the last to enter, Eduardo thinks that the intern who is still sitting on the porch steps is Mike. Eduardo looks down at him as they pass. The young man's fingers are buried in his hair and he's just shaking his head in disbelief. 

Eduardo notices for the first time that in all of the days he has been in the house he has never bothered to learn the interns' names. It hits him hard, like it is important, but his heart contradicts it. Then he forgets it entirely when he steps through the front door and catches sight of Dustin sobbing against the couch. 

Dustin, like so many of the interns, has his fingers buried tight into his hair, twisting the red strands and pulling so hard that his knuckles are white. From where Eduardo is standing he can see that Dustin's shoulders are shaking violently and he just. Stands stock still. He knows what he ought to do, he should go to Dustin and hold him, but he can't seem to feel his feet. Or his legs for that matter.  
At his shoulder Sean says, “He found him.”

There isn't a need for a qualification, except. Eduardo seems to be moving slower than everyone else. He fills in the blanks and then shuffles forward. He reaches for Dustin's upturned elbow. Dustin's forearms are bared toward the ceiling because of the way he is holding his head. In addition to pulling his hair out, Dustin looks as if he is trying to fend off another blow. He is a ball of tense muscles and when Eduardo touches his skin, Dustin jerks back against the back of the couch. When his arms come down slowly they reveal tear streaks and cheeks blotchy red. Dustin looks up at Eduardo with watery and swimming eyes. Dustin blinks slowly before he seems to recognize who is standing over him.

Then the dry heaving sobs start up again and he murmurs soft, “God, Wardo.”

Eduardo turns and sinks down against the couch until he is seated beside Dustin. Dustin hiccups and then gives a small angry sound. Dustin presses his palms hard against his eyes as if to stop them from tearing up anymore. Eduardo pulls Dustin's hands from his face carefully. 

“I didn't even know we owned a toaster,” Dustin gets out through his hiccups. He finally collapses against Eduardo, giving up on pretense and sobs opened mouth into Eduardo's shirt. Wrapping his arms around Dustin's back, Eduardo holds Dustin to him. Weird, he thinks that he isn't crying. Except, a few minutes after Dustin's sobs begin to subside into whimpers and shudders, Sean reappears with a tissue box. Eduardo stares up at him and watches in subdued surprise as Sean pulls a tissue free for him and crouches in front of the two of them. 

“I called Chris,” Sean says as he tucks the tissue into one of Eduardo's hands. Then Sean stares at his hands and Eduardo stares too. They are shaking. Eduardo watches Sean tuck his hands beneath his arms. Then he takes in the mess that is Sean's hair and the dried tear streaks that are on his cheeks. Distantly, Eduardo finds it interesting. 

“Chris was supposed to drive back from LA tomorrow, but he said he was going to drive back right now,” Sean says. “But I talked him out of it. He'll get a flight instead and be back later today.”

\--

When Chris gets back in, he takes over for Eduardo and holds Dustin, though, Dustin has no tears left to shed. His face is pinched with pain as Chris pulls him up off of Eduardo and then promptly collapses onto Dustin. Dustin holds Chris back just as desperately and whispers, “I know,” in the most heartbroken tone. Eduardo watches for a moment before pushing up from the floor. His body aches from too much time spent in the same position. Slowly, the ache in his heart is growing stronger. Eduardo doesn't know where Sean is or where the interns are and he just doesn't care anymore. 

He leaves Dustin and Chris to sink back to the floor while he leaves. He heads out of the living room and down the hall. He goes to Mark's room on autopilot and pushes the door open slowly. It looks as bare and undisturbed as every time before. If the police had gone through it there is no sign of them. Somehow that is both comforting and painful. Eduardo's throat sticks and he can feel his eyes beginning to burn. 

“Mark,” Eduardo whispers, his voice breaking at the end of the words. He gets to the bed before he collapses, sinking into the sheets and curling his fingers tight into the fabric. In his chest, his heart aches and beats so hard that Eduardo thinks he might split in half. He prays for sleep but all he can see when he closes his eyes is the way Mark had looked on the bed the day before. He tries to focus on Mark's eyes and sees instead deep dark bruises under the eyes of older Mark. Of Mark in real time looking untouchable at a Facebook shareholder's meeting. 

Eduardo sobs open-mouthed against the sheets and shakes. He just wants today to _start over._ When it finally does, Eduardo has been awake from midnight to midnight without sleep. 

\--

Eduardo wakes on the plane with a cry ready in his throat and the flight attendant's hand on his shoulder. Eduardo bites down on the cry and chokes on it and shuddering with the need for air. Around him the other passengers are turning to watching as his, god _so heavy,_ shoulders shake. He wants to scream and he wants to cry and around him the other passengers are becoming increasingly distressed 

“Sir,” the young woman says cautiously, reaching out for him again. Her fingers are warm through his layers but Eduardo still shrugs her off. He shakes his head when she asks if he needs anything and chooses instead to bury his head in his hands. Eduardo wants desperately for it to all have been a dream, but he knows it wasn't. Knows it in the way he starts crying involuntarily. 

–

Eduardo gets to the house in a frantic state. His bags were left abandoned in the airport and nothing stopped him from rushing for a car. On the way he had tapped his fingers nervously against surfaces in the car and then he had chewed on his nails, he had bribed the driver into going as fast as he could. Eduardo didn't care how he looked, not even when Sean opened the door and had raised his eyebrows in surprise at Eduardo's state. 

Dustin calls, “Hey War _dooo_ ,” and is completely ignored as Eduardo rushes for the hallway. His heartbeat is too strong in his ears and his hands are damp with sweat. The hallway seems to long and he cannot seem to swallow. The day has started over and yet Eduardo's body feels as if, beyond Mark's bedroom door, Mark will still be gone. 

Eduardo throws the door open, hard. It hits something solid and there is a soft groan as the body behind the wood falls to the floor. This time, Mark doesn't even bother a curse or to complain about a possibly broken nose. He just stares up at the ceiling without blinking as Eduardo shoves the rest of the way into the room and then slams the door shut. 

“You asshole,” Eduardo growls through clenched teeth as he hauls Mark up and into his arms. Mark goes without protest into Eduardo's stifling hold. He doesn't actively hold Eduardo back but he doesn't stop Eduardo from pressing his face into the skin of Mark's neck. 

“You asshole,” Eduardo says again. This time the words are whispered and they sound fond. Then Eduardo is shaking and trying not to sob into Mark's shirt. 

“How could you do that?”

Mark shrugs in his grasp and Eduardo is torn. He wants to shake Mark and he never wants to let him go. 

“One of us was going to try,” Mark says in that flat tone. He makes it sound reasonable and logical and it shakes Eduardo up. He has to break away from Mark then, has to get away from the feeling of Mark's heart beating so close to his own or he might cry. Or punch Mark in the face. 

“ _No Mark_ ,” Eduardo stresses, pulling at his hair. “Don't fucking say that, not like it makes sense.”

“It was the logical course of action.”

There's that shrug again. When did Eduardo start pacing?

“There was nothing logical about that, Mark!”

“One of us -”

“No, Mark. No one had to try and kill themselves.” Eduardo shakes his head and stares at Mark through his own tears. 

“One of us _was_ going to try.”

“And it had to be you? Did you-” Eduardo falters. His father's ring catches in his hair and Eduardo gives a growl and pulls it out hair and all. He tosses it at wall with another yell. All of the pain is resurfacing and Eduardo feels like he did at the sight of the stretcher. He wants to rage and he wants to make sure Mark is still alive. 

Breathing in through his nose to calm himself, Eduardo finally asks, “Did you think I would kill myself just to get away from you?”

Eduardo catches Mark's flinch before his face shuts down.

“It's not all about you,” Mark says so harshly that Eduardo is taken aback. He reels back at the way Mark's eyes flash as he speaks and then, Eduardo stumbles physically and verbally to explain.

“I, Mark - I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I.” Eduardo closes his eyes and breathes shakily out through his nose. It doesn't help no matter how many times he tries. His lungs just won't fill with enough air. “You don't know what yesterday was like.”

“Today.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eduardo puts as much vehemence in the words as he can muster, but it isn't much. He's still shaken and he reaches out for Mark again, desperate for the reassurance that he is really there. Eduardo snags his fingers on the soft jersey cotton of Mark's shirt and draws Mark into his side again. As Eduardo tightens his arms around Mark's back he feels Mark tense and slowly, slowly sink into it. 

“Eduardo -”

“Shut up,” Eduardo mumbles into Mark's hair and just holds on tighter. He takes in the feeling of Mark in his arms. He hadn't realized how thin Mark was beneath the baggy cotton shirt and sweats. He closes his eyes and feels Mark's hair soft against his cheek and doesn't feel anything but elation at the dirty, sweaty boy smell clinging to Mark's hair and skin. It is musky and warm and so _fucking alive_. Eventually Mark huffs out a breath against the side of Eduardo's neck and lifts his arms to hold him in return. Eduardo chokes. He shakes and clutches so hard at Mark's shirt that it rides up. 

In his arms Mark begins to shudder. As Eduardo calms, what happened the day before seems to settle over Mark, who is drawing in deep breaths. Eduardo rubs a hand down the line of Mark's spine as he feels Mark struggle for control. 

“Wardo,” Mark finally whines. His nose is wet and cold against the skin of Eduardo's throat as he ducks his head under Eduardo's chin and makes what can only be an attempt to crawl his way inside Eduardo. One of them, Eduardo thinks it's him, makes reassuring sounds. Slowly, they peel apart but no more than a few inches. They keep their hands on each other. 

Yesterday didn't take a physical toll on them but they are shaken enough that, Eduardo can push and pull them both to the bed. Mark tells him he should sleep, like the first day and it makes Eduardo laugh high and strangled. He repeats the words with his lips pressed to Mark's skin. 

Then they are horizontal and Eduardo is toeing off his shoes and kicking them off the edge of the mattress while Mark pulls the blankets free. This time, when Eduardo huddles under the covers to hide he isn't alone. The feeling of Mark isn't the ghost of a touch to his hand, and when he drifts off it is really Mark - not an imaginary Mark - who is watching him.

It is a real Mark who says in a small voice, “I can't, Wardo.”

\-- 

Eduardo wakes up and he is alone in the bed. It makes him jolt upright and look. The door to the bedroom open, and when Eduardo goes to it he sees into the hall. The hall door is open, into the living room and the sliding glass door is open, like Mark is leading Eduardo to where he is. Because he knows that last night was too much to just disappear after and Eduardo appreciates that. He especially appreciates that even though it may seem subtle, it isn't. Not for Mark. 

Eduardo finds him outside, stripped to his boxers and standing in the pool where the water is up to his waist. Mark is pale and his back is too straight. His arms are out at his sides, hands laying on the water's surface. 

And Eduardo is still in his slacks, his dress shirt, and his socks. It is too bright outside, and too early, maybe five am and the rest of the neighborhood is asleep. But Eduardo slides into the pool without a sound. Not even the cold water on his sensitive skin makes him want to disturb Mark. 

Eduardo goes to him, lining up his chest to Mark's beck so there is little space between them. But they don't quite touch. Eduardo splays his arms out, hands hovering over the water's surface like Mark's and waits. 

“Wardo,” Mark eventually says. It makes Eduardo shiver. He closes that small space between them because Mark might not seem fragile, might seem exactly the same as he is on every repeat of this day without any obvious signs that he had _died_ , but to Eduardo there is a change. Eduardo presses his forehead to the back of Mark's neck and breathes there, breathes Mark in. 

“What happened?”

“Facebook stopped changing.”

The words hang in the air. Neither boy moves. The waters laps at them as they stand still; around them birds sing in the sun. And then Mark makes a soft sound. 

“I tried everything, but it never stayed.”

“We'll figure it out, Mark.”

Eduardo moves slowly, afraid to startle Mark, and wraps his arms around Mark's waist. Mark shudders at the sudden feeling of Eduardo's slightly soggy sleeves pressing wet and soaking the front of his thin shirt. But, he doesn't pull away. So Eduardo moves slowly closer, draping himself over Mark's body. The smell of Mark; a detergent that Eduardo doesn't remember Mark using, the smell of sweat on Mark's skin which Eduardo is familiar with, and the smell of someone else's shampoo. Presumably. 

Mark snorts as he sinks back into Eduardo. 

“I'm not fragile,” he murmurs, as if he's reading Eduardo's mind. His lips shake a little after the words, giving away just how long he must have been standing out here in the pool with the early morning breeze chilling his bare skin. There isn't enough of Eduardo in that moment to hold Mark tight and to make Mark warm. Something like a growl, a sound Eduardo has never heard himself make, bubbles up from his throat and his arms go tight around Mark. The sharpness of Mark's hipbones bite into the slim muscles of Eduardo's forearms. And it isn't enough. 

“I wasn't trying cut you out of the company. Not this time. Not again,” Mark says then. The words come fast and abrupt. The lack of warning and context was something Eduardo used to be familiar with. He anticipated it, even relished the challenge of keeping up with Mark. But this time he doesn't need to make large mental leaps to figure out what Mark means. Eduardo sighs into the soft skin of Mark's neck. 

“I know. I -” he heaves a sigh into the soft hairs beneath his nose. Mark shudders again and Eduardo digs his fingers into the muscle of Mark's sides. Eduardo doesn't try to come up with the words. He is too tired for a fight, and he doesn't see a way to start this conversation without at least throwing one gauntlet. 

“Can we talk about this a hundred Thursdays from now?”

The chuckle that Mark emits is forced and not at all amused, but Eduardo takes it. He takes it and uses it as a logical reason to drag Mark bodily from the pool. 

(It's scary to Eduardo how easily Mark let's Eduardo drag him inside.)

\--

“Do you remember, back at Harvard, when the Winklevosses -?” Eduardo starts to ask when they are back beneath the covers. They are curled on their sides facing each other, and later Eduardo is going to make Sean drive them somewhere to get breakfast, but for now Mark is close enough that Eduardo can feel Mark's breath on his face. 

Mark interrupts Eduardo's nostalgic question, “The Winklevii.”

Eduardo chuckles. “When the _Winklevii_ chased you across campus, so you hid in my dorm room for three days?”

“They rowed crew, Wardo. There was some threat there.”

“Yeah,” Eduardo agrees. He runs his thumb over Mark's cheekbone, staring openly at Mark and the way Mark's skin looks against his own. It makes Eduardo's throat stick. He wants to lean closer, feel Mark's chapped lips under his own. 

“Wardo,” Mark murmurs. He shifts over, using his hip and shoulder to get closer to Eduardo. They are pressed hip to hip and Eduardo can feel the heat of Mark through their sweats and t-shirts. Everything Eduardo is wearing and the blankets and sheets all smell of Mark. Eduardo is so surrounded and swallowed by Mark, that when Mark kisses him Eduardo can't help opening his lips to Mark. 

It's a soft kiss. Eduardo keeps his thumb beneath the hinge of Mark's jaw. 

"I'm planning a heist," Eduardo says against Mark's jaw bone. 

"Sounds illegal, Wardo," Mark whispers, sounding happy as he speaks. 

"It is. You should help me." 

\--

Eduardo wakes up three hours later cradled in Mark's arms. His head is tucked under Mark's chin and he has his lips to Mark's throat. It's nice, warm in a non-stifling sort of way. Wiggling closer and tightening his arms around Mark's waist, Eduardo pulls himself closer to Mark's thin chest and he waits, listening to Mark's soft breathing with just the edge of a whistle through his nose until Mark's grip on his hips eases. 

Mark snuffles and slides down in the bed as he stretches his toes out and his neck back as far as it will go. Then he opens his eyes and looks down at Eduardo who stares back at him, biting back a smile as he watches Mark blink rapidly. 

“Hey, so I was thinking that we should get Sean to take us for breakfast.” 

Mark blinks at him again, but there is the twist of a grin on his lips. Eduardo notices it with perfect clarity and feels a jolt of surprise. He thinks, in that moment, that he is reading Mark perfectly and a warmth settles in his stomach. Mark is looking at him with less of a grin and a bit more concern so Eduardo can only assume that the pure glee is showing on his face, but he doesn't care. 

After kissing Mark on the chin, Eduardo adds, “I'm thinking we can go in our pajamas because I don't feel like getting dressed.” 

“Don't you have some sort of rule that dictates you always wear a suit?” Mark asks, deadpan. 

Eduardo laughs, fully until his head is tipping back. Then he drags Mark up from the bed, kissing his nose and his cheekbones even as Mark splutters. They stumble over the covers for a second and more laughter escapes Eduardo, snorting as he holds onto Mark's shoulders for stability while Mark chuckles into his ear. Tossing a pair sweatpants at Mark, Eduardo searches the floor for a pair of his own, finding only a pair of sleep pants with basketballs and soccer balls that he shrugs at before pulling them on. They falls several inches short of his ankles and Mark is visibly amused by them but they're warm and so is Mark's stomach when Eduardo hikes Mark's shirt up to run his hands over Mark's skin. 

Sean actually laughs when he sees them, snorting into his coffee after he looks up to find Eduardo and Mark standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Eduardo ignores the mess and the bowl of cereal Sean is halfway through. He tosses Sean his keys, saying, “You are taking us for breakfast,” as Sean fumbles the keys. 

\--

Sean drives them to an iHop and Eduardo has no doubt that it is an attempt, on Sean's part, to infringe on Eduardo's supposed 'sensibilities' and the whole thing makes Eduardo want to roll his eyes. Sean has met Mark, and Eduardo doesn't doubt that at some point in his absence that Sean has watched Mark eat tuna straight from the can. If Eduardo can handle being best friends with a boy who would gladly subsist on Red Vines and Red Bull, not to mention putting up with campus food when Mark would refuse to let Eduardo buy him a nicer meal, iHop isn't going to send him running in the opposite direction. Eduardo unbuckles and shoves the passenger door open. 

When he rounds the car with Mark following him, Eduardo catches Sean smiling, not smirking, as he shakes his head and walks toward the front entrance. 

At the table, after the waiter gets their orders and leaves them so he can take care of the smattering of other customers, Eduardo unwraps the napkin from around his utensils and uncaps the pen he had stolen from the pocket of the waiter's apron. Sean and Mark stare at him in shock and Eduardo grins up at them for a moment before looking back down at the sketch he is making on the thin paper surface, twirling the pen between his fingers. 

“It's just something I've been practicing,” Eduardo admits as he draws the first floor of the art gallery. 

“You've just casually been practicing pickpocketing?” Sean asks. The grin is wide and Eduardo can anticipate Sean's next words even before he says them. “Well shit, Saverin.”

Eduardo explains his plan to Mark, using his fork to show the paths he's been looking into, tracing the maze he's drawn from memory in faint blue lines. Mark quickly leans over the table to scrutinize blueprint, his fingers running the same paths as his eyes flicker back and forth. A heat and a joy makes Eduardo's stomach heavy as he watches Mark become as engaged in the plot as he is when he is coding for Facebook. Blue eyes narrow and his tongue runs along his lower lip in a way that is almost too entrancing. 

Eduardo ducks his head. 

“Have you figured out how to disable the security cameras and trip wires?” Mark asks, chewing on his lower lip. 

Squished in the corner of the booth, Sean has his fingers buried in his hair and he is starting to look shiftily about the more Eduardo explains his ideas. Ignoring the way Sean has gone from murmuring to himself and has started tearing open packets of sugar to put his nervous energy to use, Eduardo tells Mark about the security system the way Dustin had described it to Eduardo in as close to verbatim as he can. Mark nods along, fingers tapping against the surface of the table while he seems to process the information. 

The waiter returns with their breakfasts and Sean says, 'thank god,' as he reaches for his Belgian waffles. Mark just nods his thanks as he lets the waiter set the omelet in front of him. He steals toast from Eduardo while he traces and retraces the lines of Eduardo's map until the napkin is nearly in shreds. Eduardo has no doubt that by the end of breakfast Mark will have the map memorized. There are schematics back at the house and from the testy way that Mark is still tapping his fingers Eduardo knows that Mark will consume those too. It's crazy, the very idea that they are planning a heist without jest, but it's making Eduardo giddy. 

Mark gets syrup and powdered sugar on his lips from his side-order of pancakes and Eduardo wants nothing more than to lean over the table and kiss Mark. He refrains, sitting on his hands while Sean, now calmed down and drinking a third cup of coffee, rolls his eyes at Eduardo. 

\--

Their first attempt goes terribly wrong. Eduardo is running and skidding through crowds of people with Mark hissing profanities in his ear while the clapping, clattering sounds of officer regulation shoes race against the linoleum behind him. 

The last thing Eduardo hears Mark say is, 'Fuck! I'm sorry, Wardo,' before the shouted orders of the guards draws him to a skidding halt with his hands up in surrender. He turns slowly, just like he has been ordered. The men have their hands on their weapons, but the guns aren't drawn so Eduardo, with his heart racing because of fear, slaps his headset from his head and then stomps on it, breaking it and hopefully giving Mark a chance to get away before the police can find him. Luckily his flailing doesn't provoke anything more than more shouts from the guards. 

Eduardo, cuffed and with his shoulders aching as the officers march him from the building, looks up and into the crowd. Ten feet from the curb, he sees Mark and catches his eye. He shakes his head quickly when Mark makes an aborted effort to dash toward him. Mark frowns, deep and nearly a scowl, but Eduardo doesn't have time to even roll his eyes let alone try to mouth something to him in an effort to reassure him before he is less than gently shoved into the back of a police cruiser. 

Eduardo doesn't see it happen, but in the last few hours before the day rewinds there is a commotion from the bullpen, shouts of anger and disbelief. One officer gets a little to close to the cells when he starts yelling about how all of the servers are down. One of the uniforms standing guard near the cells asks how and the answer of, “I don't know how but we're all locked out!” comes ricocheting back to Eduardo. 

Eduardo doesn't doubt for a moment that it was Mark and he can't smother the smile that comes to his lips. He does manage to keep from laughing. 

When Eduardo gets to the Palo Alto house after the day starts anew he walks straight to Mark's room and Mark meets him halfway, with his lips and clinging limbs. After their adrenaline fades and their heartbeats return to a normal rhythm Eduardo runs his fingers through Mark's hair and smiles. Mark grins back at him, leaning forward to seek out a kiss. 

“What if today had been Thursday,” Eduardo asks, curious but also teasing as he runs his fingers across Mark's stomach. 

“It would have made an interesting Facebook founders story,” Mark says with a shrug, as if it is no big deal. Then he chews on his lower lip to hide his smile and Eduardo can't help it if he leans in to kiss Mark again, rolling on top of him and sucking Mark's lower lip gently and running his fingers lower on Mark's stomach. 

\--

The second run-through goes perfectly. Eduardo's body feels like it's on red-alert, waiting for an alarm to go off or for the security guards to come flooding out of the wood work again. His heart is pounding and Mark is speaking to him through his earpiece. 

“Just breathe, Wardo.” 

Eduardo exhales and hopes like hell that he doesn't look half as panicked as he feels, and pushes through into the security passage way. A few yards later he's out the back door, skipping to cover more ground and then he's in the passenger seat of Sean's car. 

Sean is nervous, he has his sunglasses pulled down low, and Eduardo barely has the door closed before Sean is speeding away from the building. The tires actually squeal and as Eduardo holds onto the door handle he thinks, _oh so that is a real thing, not just a Hollywood thing._

They ditch the painting in a storage unit that Sean had purchased earlier in the day, nervous and talking about picking up smoking again because he might as well if Mark and Eduardo planned to give him a heart-attack. Eduardo doesn't longer as he leaves it in behind the metal door, knowing that it won't be there tomorrow. His hands are shaking from excess adrenaline and all he can think about is Mark in his flip-flops, scurrying down the stairs from the security room to blend in the museum crowd. Sean takes the long way back to the house and entire way Eduardo opens and closes his hands because he's so wracked with energy. He thinks about the bus route back to the house and estimates how long it will take Mark to get there, if Mark will get back before them (if Mark hasn't been caught by the cops.) 

\--

Eduardo and Sean end up back at the house first; Sean doesn't even pull into the drive. He's white-knuckling the steering wheel and there are lines around his mouth. Considering what Eduardo knows about Sean and Sean's personally declared opinions on the establishment and giving them the middle-finger, Eduardo is actually a little surprised by how upset the heist has made him. Sean was on edge the entire ride through Palo Alto and when they are beside the curb, he puts the car in park, revs the engine and then speaks without looking at Eduardo. 

“Get out of my car, Saverin.” 

Eduardo doesn't move. He sits as still as he can manage and stares at Sean until he grunts and says, “I'm not going to tell the police or anything, okay? I'm a fucking accomplice. I just want to go out and get trashed and find a girl who can fuck me into oblivion okay?”

Then he leans over Eduardo and forces the passenger door open. And Eduardo doesn't fight him. Twenty-year old him might have; he might have stayed in the car and hissed passive-aggressive threats at Sean. However, Eduardo knows now that Sean is as much of a wreck of a human being as he always expected, but for some reason he's loyal enough to Mark especially when Mark and Facebook are poised to benefit him greatly. 

Eduardo lets Sean drive away and goes inside to wait for Mark. 

\--

Mark bangs in through the front door and Eduardo jerks around from where he's been sitting on the couch with his fingers in his hair and tension all down his spine. Mark's chest is heaving like he ran the two blocks from the bus stop and his hands are opening and closing at his side, the same way Eduardo's had. Even with the distance between them, Mark's eyes look bright and blue and they flick all over Eduardo's face in a too-quick scrutiny that has Eduardo on his feet in seconds. 

They cross the space in unison and crash together so that all of Mark's sharp angles smash into Eduardo, but that doesn't stop them. Mark has his fingers in Eduardo hair and one leg wrapped around Eduardo's hip. He's rocking against Eduardo, elbows digging into Eduardo's shoulders as his fingers twist in Eduardo's hair. Their teeth click when they try to kiss, their noses bump, and it's so stupidly uncoordinated that Eduardo can't help rearing back to giggle at the two of them. 

“Are you trying to climb me?” Eduardo asks incredulously, giggling some more and settling his hands on Mark's hips. Mark whines back at him, thrusting twice against him before grinding in circles and tugging at Eduardo hair. Mark's breath is warm on Eduardo cheeks, and his nails keep scraping Eduardo scalp as he tries to tug Eduardo into another kiss. 

Eduardo presses their foreheads together instead and rocks back against Mark. 

A hitch of breath and then Mark stammers, “You look like sex. How is it you look like sex? Fuck.” 

He's pushed up on the toes of one foot, and seems a moment away from leaping up on Eduardo, and as thin as Mark is, Eduardo doesn't think he'd catch Mark. They'd probably tip backwards onto the floor in a mess of bruised limbs and Mark humping him like its the end of the world. 

“Mark,” Eduardo murmurs against Mark's lips, having given into the heat of Mark's open mouth. He keeps murmuring Mark's name as Mark grinds against him and starts to turn his lips away from Eduardo's lips to nip at the line of Eduardo's jaw. There are at least two interns watching them from the kitchen table and it's only a matter of time before Dustin appears out of thin air to squawk at them and ruin in the mood. 

“You have a bed somewhere,” Eduardo tries to tell Mark. “And I'm not going to carry you there.” 

Mark slides down so he's flat on his feet and he gets this look on his face that says he's contemplating picking _Eduardo_ up and carting him off to the bedroom. So Eduardo does what he can to derail that plan, cupping Mark's face with one hand and wrapping his other arm around Mark's waist. He kisses Mark hard and waltzes him backwards towards the bedrooms. 

If Eduardo thought their initial kissing was a mess, getting from the living room to a bed is even more so. They have to maneuver through the doorway to the hallway and down the hall to Mark's bedroom and through a second door. It would probably be easier going if Mark wasn't pushing Eduardo up against flat surfaces every other second. Before they are even behind the first door, Mark has one hand down Eduardo's pants, his fingers squeezing at the bulge of Eduardo's cock through the fabric of his boxers. 

Eduardo shivers and moans, and Mark gets this look on his face, the cat that ate the canary. Eduardo rolls his eyes (before they roll back because Mark works his hand inside Eduardo's boxers next) and retaliates by tilting Mark's head back so he can suck at the spot beneath Mark's jaw that makes him shake and whimper. 

They make it into the bedroom with their pants and underwear already down around their ankles. Mark's hands are on Eduardo's cock and over the bottom of Eduardo's ribs, Eduardo has his hands on Mark's ass, kneading and pulling him forward as he thrusts into the circle of Mark's fingers, not slick enough even though Mark had licked his palm before taking Eduardo's cock in hand, but his heart is beating erratically and Mark. 

Mark is staring at him like looking away would be one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Eduardo comes like that, ducking and pressing his face into Mark's throat as he moans. Mark laughs, his hands coming around Eduardo's back with his fingers pressing under Eduardo's shoulder blades. And Eduardo pushes him down to the mattress so he can nip and lick at Mark's throat. 

After, Eduardo blows Mark with him laid out beneath him; his fingers tangled in the sheets and Eduardo's name on his lips. His hips thrust up in increments, but Eduardo keeps him steady with an arm braced over Mark's stomach. There's a pink flush to Mark chest and he keeps licking his lips in between moans. 

The rush of excitement at having successfully stolen that painting is nothing in comparison to the hot, flushed, heart-attack sensation Eduardo gets from watching, feeling, tasting, Mark come beneath him. His back goes tense and his bent-up knees shake and pull at Eduardo's shoulders. Mark's jaw falls slack and afterward his chest heaves. 

“You're so beautiful,” Eduardo murmurs to Mark. He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand and then slides up the bed. He straddles Mark's hips and stares down at Mark's red lips in wonder. Mark stares back, his eyes half-lidded with just a sliver of blue visible beneath his lashes. His face is flushed, and so is his chest. 

Eduardo runs his fingers up Mark sides, nails scratching lightly at the raised ribs and thin skin. Mark's heartbeat is as erratic as Eduardo's had felt earlier, when Mark's fingers were so close to his heart, but it's slowly winding down to a steady beat. 

Eduardo rolls his thumbs over Mark's nipples and Mark arches lazily, a “ngggnh,” sound escaping his lips. Eduardo does it again. He tries his lips on Mark's nipples and down his chest and over his stomach. They waste what feels like hours in bed, touching and caressing; Eduardo hovering and crouching while Mark reaches up lazily from the mattress. 

At some point, they drift off to sleep. And then it's Thursday again. 

\--

Planning the heist was a good escape from the monotony of the Palo Alto house, but the excitement can only last so long. They don't try again after the last time went off without a hitch. Part of it is a decision on Eduardo's part to find something new, something less illegal, to create that same level of excitement (no need to make a boring routine out of stealing paintings.) The other part that keeps them busy is three straight Thursdays where Eduardo gets to the Palo Alto house and Mark promptly drags him back to the bedroom. Each day Mark sucks bruises into the skin of Eduardo's chest, close to where his heart is but neither of them acknowledges it, and each time Eduardo wakes up on the plane. He checks beneath his shirt in the airplane bathroom and they're always gone. Nothing ever changes but him and Mark. 

And even then. 

Mark still seems to be dancing on the edge of a pin, not quite manic but sometimes he's _gone._ Eduardo will look up in while he's speaking to find Mark stopped in the middle of whatever he was doing, and Eduardo will close his mouth and just watch Mark. 

Sometimes Mark watches Dustin while he's wired in and coding and Mark just stares, and Eduardo doesn't know if Mark's actually looking at Dustin or if he's just lost in thought. The only thing moving are his flexing fingers; he doesn't really blink. 

It's not always Dustin. A few times it is one or more of the interns; once it's even Sean, in the middle of eating a bagel, who looks creeped out by the situation and says, “Hey buddy?” and eyes Eduardo for help. 

Eduardo has found that if he goes to Mark, cups Mark's face between his hands and kisses him, Mark will come back. His eyes light up and his hands settle on Eduardo's hips as he leans up into the kiss, and his lips slide into a smile against Eduardo's lips. 

“That's not my on and off switch, you know.” Mark says as their lips part with a wet sound. His eyes open slowly and he grins even wider at Eduardo as he adds, “Not that is isn't appealing.”

“Well that's good to know,” Eduardo says with a grin.

Mark's fingers worm their way under Eduardo's shirt and he wastes no time sliding them along the grooves of Eduardo's ribs, and around to press his nails into Eduardo's spine. It's instinctive, the way Eduardo arches at the touch to press the length of his body against Mark's. They fit together better than Eduardo could have ever imagined, even as a starry-eyed twenty-something in love with his best friend. There's a heat weighing heavy in Eduardo’s stomach and also an ache. He runs his thumb along the bruising beneath Mark's eyes. Slowly, Mark's eyelids close in response and he leans his face into the palm of Eduardo's hand. 

Eduardo could force Mark to stay in bed for two weeks worth of days and the bruising wouldn't go away. It's a small thing, but it makes Eduardo want this cycle to end so badly. He wants to drag Mark into bed and sleep through until it's Friday. There's no way of knowing how this day will end, either with them stuck in Palo Alto and with a shot at trying everything up to the dilution all over again or - 

Eduardo presses his lips to Mark's forehead and thinks - or with him in Singapore and Mark on the other side of the world. 

“Come on,” Mark says. His nails dig in deeper and he leans in to press his lips to Eduardo's jaw. He bites down, and Eduardo's mouth opens on a moan, breathing catching as he opens his mouth. He manages to keep the sound choked back, only giving a soft whine as Mark starts sucking and kissing his way along Eduardo's skin. 

They're standing in the living room and it would just take one intern looking up from the computer to start the catcalls. It turns out that at least half of the employees had thought Mark and Eduardo were together at the time they were hired to come out to Palo Alto. It's less embarrassing than Eduardo had expected, finding out that when he had been mooning over Mark at Harvard everyone, but Mark, had noticed. And it's also easier. Dustin and Sean are the only ones that look confused each time the day is rewritten, but at least Dustin usually cheers them on or starts the cat-calling. 

“Stop thinking, Wardo.” 

Mark slips his hands out from underneath Eduardo's shirt, and he steps away from Eduardo's own hands. His shoulders straighten and his grin becomes something more daring, more Mark when he has a crazy, brilliant idea. He slips his hand into Eduardo's and curls his fingers around Eduardo's; his palm is slightly sweaty and when he starts leading Eduardo back to the bedroom, Eduardo can make out some nervousness in the way that Mark shuffles his feet. He's relearning Mark and his physical tics all over again, and it shouldn't make him so gleeful to be perfectly honest, not when every time they try to have a serious conversation one of them cuts it short. Then again, Mark shouldn't still be as nervous as he is. 

\--

Eduardo lowers his arms from where he's had them around Mark's back taut and bent, keeping his head from hitting the headboard. He chuckles, even though his chest is still heaving and he doesn't quite have his breath back. Mark's breath is warm as he pants against Eduardo's throat. He's heavy, sprawled completely over Eduardo's chest, but Eduardo just laughs and tangles his fingers in Mark's sweaty curls. 

“Mark.” 

Eduardo curls his fingers and turns Mark's head gently by his hair. Mark moves slowly and he grumbles at Eduardo, but he let's Eduardo maneuver them so they are nose to nose. 

“Aren't we supposed to be cuddling or something? I thought you liked that,” Mark says. He bites Eduardo's collarbone in what is becoming a weird habit. Eduardo really, really shouldn't like it. It should be on his list of things they should talk about, but for some reason Mark's teeth against his skin gives him shivers, and makes him want to roll Mark over for round two. 

“I do like that.” Eduardo kisses Mark languidly for a moment, longer than he means to and then draws back to add, “But Mark. We need to talk. You know that.” 

Mark rises up on his elbows and uses the angle to make the kiss bruising. 

It's late. Not so late that Eduardo should be giving up and planning to try and talk about this another day, but he'd rather let Mark pull him along than fight about the past. So he let's it go. Again.

\--

It starts to bother Eduardo, the way Mark seems to become single-minded about the situation and does everything he can to stop from talking about what happened between them, about the depositions and the destruction of their friendship or their new found sex life. It brings back some of the rage that Eduardo had when this all began. He doesn't want to hate Mark anymore, he's ready to understand. If he's being honest, he's been ready to understand for a while now it's just the way this all began was too weird. If Mark had come to his office in Singapore or had pulled him aside after an investors meeting and said they needed to talk, Eduardo likes to believe that he would have said yes. 

But if the universe didn't have a sick sense of humor when it came to Eduardo Saverin, he probably wouldn't have gotten this: his fingers combing through Mark's hair, his palm on the back of Mark's neck while Mark hunches over a computer and explains what he's doing as he codes. 

“You know I have no idea what you're talking about? Still?” Eduardo asks with a smile.

“I know. But you always listened and you didn't seem to mind. It was nice.” Mark shrugs and then points to a line of code and explains it. Eduardo though, his fingers still and he stares at the line of Mark's spine, curved beneath his t-shirt. Mark hums and presses his head back into Eduardo's palm, so Eduardo resumes combing through Mark's curls. 

His throat feels dry, and Eduardo turns his face into his shoulder to cough in hopes that it'll stop feeling like there is something stuck there, and choking him. 

“Mark, you said you knew I was real. You said you knew this wasn't your dream because I was real. How did you know that?”

Mark freezes up. 

“Mark.” 

Eduardo keeps his fingers on Mark's skin, drawing them down so his hand is cupping Mark's neck. 

“You wouldn't explain last time, tell me now? Please?” 

Mark pulls away completely, standing up and shuffling to lean against the wall beside the TV. He's seconds from sliding behind the entertainment center and when he finally speaks, he doesn't look at Eduardo who is still sitting on the couch. Mark stares at the floor and says, “Because . . . ” 

“Mark -” 

“I knew it wasn't my dream -- you would have stayed. If it was my dream.” 

“Mark.” Eduardo stares at Mark and waits for Mark to finally meet his eyes. Eduardo's stomach feels like lead and there's so much he could read into that statement, and so much miscommunication that can occur and has occurred between them. A large part of Eduardo wants to stand up and walk to Mark and shove him against the wall, and kiss the hell out of him. But they are in the living room of the fucking Palo Alto house and Eduardo can feel Eric watching them through the sliding glass doors. 

They aren't on the early end of twenty anymore and they shouldn't be this bad at talking to each other. Maybe it's the house, or maybe it's just all of the history between them, but he's willing to bet on the latter. That's why he stands up, smooths out the wrinkles in his dress pants and crosses his arms to keep from reaching for Mark. 

“I'm going to stay at the airport tomorrow. When you wake up you should come get me.” 

Then Eduardo turns and heads for the front door. He has Sean's keys in his pocket from running errands that morning and nearly ten hours to figure out how he can reconcile Mark from Harvard, Mark the CEO of Facebook, and Mark from the worm hole, who Eduardo nearly lost. 

He backs the car out of the driveway and doesn't look up at the front door. He doesn’t want to see anyone standing there, just in case it's enough to make him turn back around. So he hits the street and Eduardo tightens his hands on the wheel as he heads out of the neighborhood. He thinks about what it's going to be like after this all over, when he's back in Singapore and back to working long hours. 

He's smart enough to find a place to park before he even opens up the Pandora’s box that is his memory of the summer in New York and the following school semester. 

Eduardo wishes that he'd brought a notebook and a pen so he could write a speech or something down for later, then he remembers it'll be gone by the time it's Thursday again and drops his head down against the steering wheel. The car horn blares and a woman on her way back to her car from the Starbucks gives Eduardo dirty looks. 

\--

Eduardo waits two hours at the airport for Mark. 

He gets a text message after the first hour from Mark that says he's awake and he's on his way. Eduardo moves from the bar where he's been nursing the same early morning beer. He's gone through the magazine wrack and found a recipe for grilled chicken that he'll probably try tomorrow. Whether tomorrow is in Singapore and he'll have actual pots and pans, or tomorrow in Palo Alto with aluminum foil and a jerry-rigged barbecue is the only thing Eduardo has to wonder about. 

Eduardo has finished two coffees and a bagel from a shop ten yards from the bar when he gets a second text from Mark. It says _I'm here. Where are you?_ and Eduardo hopes, as he sends his response, that this doesn't turn into a shouting match in the middle of an airport. 

Which is, of course, what happens. 

Eduardo buys Mark an energy drink and himself a third coffee, and meets Mark outside of the shop. Mark shuffles over to him, hands in his pockets and with his eyes narrowed so he has to squint at Eduardo under the bright fluorescent lighting. 

“Let's sit down,” Eduardo suggests, pointing his head in the direction of the closest empty benches. It's quiet, the traffic at one am is relatively slow and anyone passing through doesn't spare Mark and Eduardo a second glance. 

“Mark, what did you mean 'stay'?” 

And Eduardo has to bite back a rude reaction when Mark rolls his eyes and slumps further down. He stares off toward the far wall, looking away from Eduardo for the first time since he arrived. 

“This is stupid.” 

“I just want to understand,” Eduardo hisses through his teeth. Then he stops, tries to reign himself back in and says, “Sorry. I just mean, were you talking about when I ran away that first day? Because I'm sorry about that. It was stupid, and childish, but I mean, was I supposed to act rationally to being in the past with - “

“No. I meant you would have stay when I said -” Mark interrupts before his mouth snaps back shut and he drops his head back against the wall. “When I said I needed you. Fuck. Are you happy?” 

Eduardo opens his mouth to respond but Mark steamrolls over him. 

“Before, when you said I wouldn't change anything, you were wrong.” 

“Was I?” 

Eduardo doesn't know when he stood up, but he is. And Mark is, and there's a warm feeling in his stomach from Mark reminding him of, “I need you,” because Eduardo had forgotten that. He had left it hanging in the air because he was fixated on the rest of the sentence. It's that same sappy and warm feeling that he used to get when Mark would say something unapologetically rude. Despite himself, Eduardo loves Mark for all of his jackass tendencies. He'd just forgotten that Mark didn't always mean to be as brutal as he sounded. 

Even so, Eduardo is yelling at Mark about the dilution, watching Mark's fingers clench into fists as he shoots back acerbic comments about the dilution. 

“I'm sorry that I lost you!” Mark shouts and the warm feeling fucking explodes up into Eduardo's chest. He starts grinning and he must look insane because his jaw hurts he's grinning so hard, like when you're in pain but you can't stop laughing, and Mark is saying, “You were wrong for Facebook, but I -- I miss your face!” 

“I miss your face too,” Eduardo says and he laughs even though his ribs feel like they've contracted and are squeezing his lungs in a death-grip. Mark is blushing and when Eduardo moves forward, Mark reaches out a hand so he can curl his fingers into Eduardo's clenched fist and cup Eduardo's hand in his own. 

“I'm sorry too,” Eduardo murmurs. He has Mark pulled up close to him and Mark is swaying nervously, slowly pressing up against Eduardo. His fingers tighten around Eduardo's hand and he's looking Eduardo in the eye, his own wet and red, and Mark is smiling and taking time to glance at Eduardo's lips before leaning in for a kiss. 

“Can we go back to the house, then?” Mark asks, his lips pressed to Eduardo's, and his free hand on Eduardo's hip to hold himself steady as he stands on his toes to reach. Eduardo kisses back, and his eyes are starting to water now like he might start crying. There is a whole day ahead of them and he could easily spend it with Mark in bed, not talking about the past, but maybe fucking Mark and then tricking him into talking about the future. 

Or maybe just fucking Mark. He slides his tongue between Mark's parted lips and curls his fingers in Mark's hoodie, drawing the cotton material up to spread his fingers over Mark's warm skin. 

“Sean's car is in the parking lot,” Mark proposes as he shivers with Eduardo's cooler hand on his skin. He rocks forward and back, like he's still swaying when really his thigh is between Eduardo's thighs. They are less than five minutes away from provoking security and maybe seven minutes away from Eduardo agreeing to have sex in Sean's rental car. 

“Yeah let's go home,” Eduardo stutters as one of Mark's wandering hands slides into his back pocket and squeezes his ass. 

\--

That's not the last day of the cycle. Apologizing and talking doesn't resolve being stuck in the past, but it makes things easier. Eduardo buys groceries each day after crawling into bed with Mark and waking up with him seven hours later. Eduardo doesn't count the days. 

And then one day he wakes up and he's in Singapore three hours after he had fallen asleep. The scotch is still on the bedside table and there is a ring starting to form in the wood. Eduardo had forgotten about that. And about how many scotches he has had before bed because it was easier than dealing with what was keeping him awake the week after returning from California. 

There is a thin sheen of sweat over Eduardo's skin and under his dress-shirt. There's a headache forming suddenly and his phone starts ringing on the bedside table. 

“Hello?” 

“I'm coming to Singapore. Text me your address so I have it when my plane lands.” 

“Mark?” 

Mark hums in response. And Eduardo. Eduardo smiles. He drops his head in his hand but he doesn't protest. There's probably something wrong with them; he _knows_ there's something wrong with him. He should tell Mark to stay where he is and that they should start slow but he can't imagine having Mark away from him. Not now, and potentially not ever. Not for more than a week, at least. 

“Call me when your plane lands. I'll come pick you up,” Eduardo says quietly. 

Mark hums again and hangs up. Eduardo imagines a smirk on Mark's face.

\--

Eduardo plans to pick Mark up inside the airport, he even has a book packed in his messenger bag in expectation of it taking a while for Mark to get through customs and baggage claims. He also packed two separate sweaters and a coffee mug without thinking about when he made a mad dash to get to the airport after Mark's text of _I'm in Singapore._

In the taxi Eduardo taps his fingers on his knees before realizing what he's doing. Then he clutches the strap of his bag and tries to pick out the airport even from far away. 

When the taxi pulls into the pick-up/drop-off zone, Eduardo leans forward to ask the taxi driver if he's willing to wait while he goes in and gets Mark. The man makes a face at him, raising his eyebrow before opening his mouth to say, “The meter is going to keep running.” 

Eduardo nods and then he sees Mark walking out of the doors. He has his backpack over his shoulder and he's wearing a pair of pajama pants with his usual hoodie and flip-flops. Eduardo doesn't know what sort of strings Mark pulled to get through so quickly, but Eduardo doesn't waste time asking. He opens the door and slides out, calling Mark name and waving him over to the taxi. 

Mark looks up, a small grin pulling his lips up and Eduardo smiles back at him on instinct. 

“Wardo.” 

“Mark,” Eduardo says, grabbing Mark's hand and lacing their fingers together before pulling Mark into the taxi. 

Mark manages to wait until they get back to Eduardo's apartment before he jumps Eduardo. Then his lips are there on Eduardo's lips, and his legs are around Eduardo’s waist; Eduardo’s hands immediately go to Mark's ass and back to keep him aloft, and he gasps into the kiss even as he steadies his stance. Eduardo tries to pull back to say something about how surprised he is to find that he can, in fact, lift Mark. But Mark hands are cupping his face and are holding him in place as Mark licks into his mouth. As he carries Mark down the hall Eduardo pushes Mark up against every available surface, squeezing and kneading Mark's ass to make Mark moan while Mark thrusts against him. 

When their lips part Eduardo groans, pressing his lips to Mark's bobbing Adam's apple as Mark pulls at his hair. 

“I missed you,” Eduardo moans, hitting the bed with his knees and folding forward on top of Mark who is too busy laughing at him to do anything more than shove at his shoulders. 

“You are ridiculous,” Mark tells him as he pushes Eduardo over onto his back so Mark can straddle his hips. 

“But you knew I was ridiculous.” 

Mark doesn't answer. He has his fingers on Eduardo's belt and his tongue poking out between his lips, and Eduardo can't help the way his stomach rolls over and his heart beats double-time. He wraps his fingers around the edges of Mark's hoodie, tugging on it until Mark gets with the program and pulls it over his head. He wriggles his way out of his t-shirt as well and Eduardo gets free reign to reach out and runs his fingers over Mark's ribs, naval, and back up to brush his nipples. 

“I really did miss you,” Eduardo says, leaning up and pressing his mouth to the hollow of Mark's throat. 

The move works in the sense that it makes Mark shiver and sink into Eduardo's arms. 

And Eduardo rolls them over, pressing himself all over Mark's body. 

“Mark.” 

“You spent two years and four weeks, give or take a few days, with me. You shouldn't -” 

“I missed you,” Eduardo says again, punctuating each word with a kiss to Mark's lips. Mark wraps around him like an octopus and tries to make each chaste peck a tangling of tongues, however, Eduardo finds the strength, somewhere, to pull back. Mark grumbles, but he smiles through it, tucking his fingers in the waist of Eduardo's jeans and gradually looking more dopey the longer Eduardo stares. 

Or maybe Eduardo is projecting. It doesn't matter, not when Mark has a hand down his pants and when the next day is Saturday and the day after that is Sunday, and so on. Eduardo has a world of time and, presumably, not another reset button for the universe. 

“I missed you too,” Mark murmurs against Eduardo's skin before snaking a leg around Eduardo's waist. “Now get naked.” 

Eduardo throws his head back and laughs.


End file.
